


open up your reservoir

by curtailed



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood Drinking, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Cheating, Clothing Porn, Crossdressing, Death Threats, Depression, Dom/sub, Dream Bubbles, Dubious Consent, Emotion Play, Emotional Sex, Exhibitionism, Fluff and Angst, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Friends With Benefits, Grief/Mourning, Hemospectrum, Jealousy, Manipulative Relationship, Meteorstuck, Multi, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, Nook Eating (Homestuck), Oral Sex, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Past Relationship(s), Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Repressed Memories, Sloppy Makeouts, Wet Dream, fear kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-01-04 19:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 25,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21202676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curtailed/pseuds/curtailed
Summary: Assortment of one-shots focused mainly on emotionplay.Requests are CLOSED.





	1. arisen (Sollux/Aradia)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Premium homecooked chapter. Self-indulgence.
> 
> Rated E for Explicit Sexual Content.
> 
> This chapter mainly serves as appetizer (basically, it gives you an idea of how I usually write this content -- with bouts of vacilliating pretentious and bland phrases peppered with grammatical errors, served with nonsensical metaphors).

It's conducted all very primly, you sitting stock-still on the stool, legs spread, him kneeling before you and kissing away at your thighs. He does it slowly, reverently, his mouth slightly cooloer than your skin as it traces upward. You rest your fingers in the short crop of his hair and feel its texture.

"AA -- "

He's been doing this for months now. Before, your lovemaking was fervent -- you edged and plateaued and peaked like golden crests, your fluids spilling into beautiful colors, the moonlight soft over your skins. Your dusks were marked with gentle caresses and casual, yet treasured gestures, him rubbing the spiral of your horns and you rubbing at his bony shoulderblades. You had spent your lives in quiet, lovely paradise. 

"Come on," he whispers, almost to himself, even as he drags his split tongue from your nook to your bulge. You haven't even unsheathed. "Come _on,_ please, can you -- can you?"

You stare down at him dispassionately.

"Just _say_ something," he whispers, his eyes desperate.

You don't bother to. He opens your legs a little wider, thrusting his tongue in you madly, his face flushed brilliant gold -- each stroke of his tongue ripples across the thin membranes, pushing into the folds of your nook, the ridges of your bulge that began peeking out, and biologically you're aware that your body is aroused -- warmth pools in your gut, rippling to your head -- but you're disinterested. You stare at the ceiling, occasionally patting his smaller horns for when he commits a good lick.

What's the point of enjoying?

It's not that you _can't_ feel emotion -- you still remember icy, pounding rage, cold contempt, ruthless spite -- but the things Sollux loved you for -- your kindness, your strength, your essence -- they've been petrified into iron and glass. When you rose from your rubble, spotting him splattered with your blood, you had almost killed him on sight.

And he would've allowed it.

All distant memories. 

You don't waste your energy smiling nowadays. Better use of your time is sitting on the windowsill, watching the sun fall like a slow drop of water, even as Sollux begs for you to eat something -- say something -- just _react,_ would you, not clam yourself up like a caged heart, _anything _ was better than this apathy, this cold, awful apathy like the blank face of a stone wall. He pokes at you and prods at you and leaves you alone, and the next night he renews this cycle again, trying to coax you into the world of the living -- but why does it matter? It's irrelevant and obsolete. 

When you come, a rush of rust material sprays across his lips.

After that he escorts you to the couch, where you lean back against the cushions and watch him move around. There's few trolls left that stir even companionship among you, and you suppose that you'd want to keep Sollux alive. He had been your matesprit. He also killed you, but you can stow away those details.

Technically -- _technically --_ if he died, you would be quite displeased. 

"I'm sorry," he mutters into your hair, curling up besides you. He takes your lack of protest as an indication to give you a gentle hug. "AA, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, I don't even -- " his voice peaks in a stifled rasp and he's crying, yellow pouring onto your hair, your horns, dampness pressed against your cheek.

You sit there and wait for him to finish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check chapter 2 for requests!


	2. REQUEST

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> read for instructions! and ONLY post requests on this chapter!

Hello!

So this is my first time doing anything like a requestbook -- and honestly, I don't know the details much.

<strike>You can request pairings and stories in the comments below. I'm not expecting much traffic to come this way, so I'll probably fill it up with my own preferred content in the downtime.</strike>

**PLEASE READ BELOW!**

"emotionplay" general Menu (will be added to): 

  * unrequited love
  * pining
  * mutual pining
  * jealousy
  * unrealized crushes
  * misunderstandings
  * cheating
  * emotional manipulation
  * breakups
  * fantasizing
  * dubious consent
  * rejections
  * confessions gone wrong
  * aftermath of situations 
  * *unhealthy relationships
  * *power dynamics
  * *forced relationships
  * *obsession/objectification
  * *psychopathic significant other
  * *possessive behavior
  * *emotional blackmail
  * *dehumanization
  * custom-made (anything you want that sorta fits in the boat above)

*extra additions!

A couple reminders (can be changed for later):

  * has to just be Homestuck characters (no original characters or Hiveswap)
  * fics in general will be from 500 -- 2000 words; feel free to list your preferred length in the specifications
  * smut is fine, but you have to specifically request it -- otherwise your prompt will be landed in the General Audience/Teen/Mature territory for all readers (depending on your prompt, it'll be up for my discretion)
  * kinks are also fine, but be aware that I'm _really_ not that familiar with writing them (as in I've pretty much never written any hardcore ones) and will most likely have to turn any extreme ones down.
  * any pairings are fine, although -- again -- I have the right to turn down prompts that I'm either way too unfamiliar or uncomfortable with 
  * you can always ask for more explicit themes (such as noncon, slavery, abuse, incest) but please don't try to glamorize or condone them, and be noted that they will be handled as carefully as possible
  * I'm also not a fan of first-person POV (in my own writing), so...yeah. Expect it to be 2nd or 3rd POV.
  * ADDITION: if you are able to, do check this page to see if I replied to your comment -- sometimes I might have questions or specifications about your prompt. all the better to tailor you your story :)
  * <strike>how long the story will take to be posted can vary depending on requested lengths -- since each take 1-2 days, if you had requested later yours might take quite a while (it will be done though, no worries!). </strike>I go sequentially down the list by order of unique people requesting, then returning requesters
  * please be respectiful of other people's requests! fanfiction is a means of enjoyment for both the writer and the reader and is nothing to be ashamed of
  * a lil update: yes, you can always return and request for more! however, I do recommend an interim period of sorts in between requests -- at the moment of traffic rate I wrote this I'd angle for around a 1-2 week gap (I'm not too picky). all requests are appreciated, so I'd love to have a rich variety of stories for this collection :)
  * instead of continuously posting I'll be trying to post several requests at once, so expect a few weeks for an average wait! Some pairings are definitely harder for me to write!

So a preferred format:

  * relationship/character (relationship optional)
  * your order
  * preferred rating
  * any specifications :) 

Example: (totally not a shameless plug for my fic)

  * Sollux/Karkat
  * the two of them filling a pail while one of them has feelings for the other (jealously, pining)
  * Explicit
  * include nook-eating 

Always feel free to comment on any story -- especially on your own request! That way it gives me a guide if you ever do a future request.

I'm hoping this will be a fun experiment for both myself and you people --so. Yup.

Have at it, I guess.

<strike>(P.S: the tagged relationships are ones I plan to write if there's not much activity for requests; don't worry about them) </strike> All pairings listed are from requests.

<strike>**REMINDER **as of 11/12/19: Currently I'm a little crowded IRL, so requested stories may take some time to be written! They'll appear in the future, though, so don't stress on it :)</strike>

<strike>**REMINDER**as of 11/20/19: Requests currently on hold! They are not forgotten, but a lot of things are crowding up my schedule and when I do have the time to write on ao3 I'm usually working on the longfic. Your requests will still be written. Apologies.</strike>

<strike>**REMINDER**as of 12/18/19: I am rarely one to turn down a request (unless see above) -- but starting soon I'll definitely be trying to bump up maturity content. This doesn't mean I'm trying to cram in more sexual content or violence or anything, but I am super down to make the "EMOTIONPLAY" tag really pop out! So I'd recommend the darkest, deepest, angst-ridden fics your mind can conjure up with ;) If people still want to request lighter fics that's _always_ completely okay, but I'll probably then start up another request book for the more adult-oriented ones.</strike>

**NOTICE: **as of 12/28/19, this requestbook is CLOSED. Since I didn't elaborate on it, requests made before I updated this gets to potentially slip through into a possibly-new-requestbook I'm planning soon? but it means I'll be turning down every prompt afterwards. I WILL be finishing up with the remaining requests, and thanks for sticking by!

**NOTICE:**as of 1/3/2020, all previous requests are being PROCESSED, which means it'll take me quite some time to get through them. 


	3. hazy (Dave/Karkat)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Kuroitora_chan:
> 
> "Karkat fucks Dave because he's jealous about the fact he got to be in the quadrant he wanted to be with Tz. Dave starts to like it for some reason.
> 
> It's jealousy with dubious consent. If you can, between 1200 and 2000 words"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E for Explicit Sexual Content, Dubious Consent, Underage.
> 
> Meteorstuck.

There's solid, uncompromising facts in life that won't change no matter where you traverse to:

you like rapping.

You like sketching.

You like Terezi, especially when it's just the two of you in Can Town and she's doing the thing where she holds up a stick of red chalk to the light -- even though she's completely blind -- and somehow..._smells?_ the glaze, the way the stick leaves behind shiny lustre as she drags it across the ground, like Karkat's blood, like his -- 

"Terezi, we gotta talk."

She's blind, not deaf. But she acts the latter as she drifts to the edges of the room, still looping red, ornery spirals around her like it'll serve as some sort of warding shield.

And the problem, you muse as you find yourself in Karkat's room that night, on your knees, sucking greedily on his bulge -- is that you do like her. Like, like-like her. Want to hold her hand and pop out alien hybrid babies and listen to her giggle and draw and hug her close, all bones and sharp grins like a razor's edge. 

Your dreams get pounded out of your head when Karkat thrusts deep into you -- you don't know how many times you've fantasized biting his bulge right off, sinking teeth into bright red muscle and hearing him scream -- but here you are, lapping at his alien cock like a dog in heat, and he grabs your hair roughly and pistons his hips forward once, twice --

The chalk-red tang of material splatter across the ground, bright and accusing as Terezi's dead eyes.

"Clean that up," Karkat snarls at you, already buttoning his pants up. You don't hesitate -- you're already wiping at the smear with what used to be your cape, watching rust-red getting soaked darker. Karkat's mumbling about what a piece of filth he is, how he shouldn't have done that -- and when morning comes he'll be this adorable ball of angry fuzziness again, his self-loathing all pitiable and endearing, and it's so fucking _manipulative_ \-- how he acts in the common room, how he acts with Terezi around, and what he does to you behind closed doors.

Yet somehow you don't run him through with your sword. Your actual fucking sword. Cut his guts up and serve it to Terezi on a platter, make her smell what her previous fling's been reduced to.

An utter sack of shit.

Nah, you're not that depraved. Your own cock's still throbbing with need, but you know better than to ask Karkat to finish you off -- he'll probably tear it out just to spite you. Leave your groin a bloodied raw stump, all covered in Terezi's favorite color, like some fuckpuppet left up to dry on the display. Instead, you wipe up the rest of the stains without complaint and ensure you close his door all soft and sweet, like you cared a single iota about him.

====

"Kismesissitude," is the first explanation Karkat offers to you, in one of those rare times he actually listens to you and not just pound you into the fucking floor. "It's a relationship built off of hatred -- "

"And you hate me because?"

He looks at you like someone's drained your brain.

"You're kidding me, Strider." He leans close until your faces are inches apart; you stare back at him resolutely, somehow not feeling shame despite being buck-ass naked. "You're actually kidding me. There's no way you were born this dense, unless the Sun emptied your pan right out of your ears."

"I don't like you," you state flatly, observing how stray hair curls cover his forehead. "You're loud and obnoxious. Your voice is annoying. I can't even _talk_ to Terezi without you butting in, complaining how I _took_ her from you -- she's not a fucking object, I don't own her, _you_ sure as hell don't own her. All this bullshit sounds more like one of your insecurity problems, man."

"Good," he says, licking his lips, his pupils blown wide. "Keep talking like that. Keep hating me."

A pool of arousal simmers in your gut -- and you hate _yourself_ for it, for your body reacting to his tone, his desperation, even when you're repulsed by it like it's the fucking plague. He's aesthetically attractive. He's stocky under his stupid turtleneck, his hands sure and capable, and he's great with his teeth and tongue. He drives you insane. He drives you to your plateau, until you're only hanging off reality by a single, mere strand, and he casts you aside like a soiled napkin. You're a blip to his plans -- his endgame was always with Terezi, with her gentle touches and low laughs and pretty blushes, not --

not whatever the fuck you two have.

_Rivalry,_ he drills into you (both figuratively and literally). _Competition. _

_Nemesis. Pride._

You've seen your share of shitty troll films, though. You've heard stories about the other trolls.

It's also about _fondness_ \-- of giving a shit about your partner's wellbeing, no matter how much you want to rip them apart. They're _yours_ to hurt, and no one else's.

That's pretty much shot to dust in your case.

====

The first time he came to you, you were sleeping.

You dreamed of dying -- by gunshots, by your throat slashed open, by the plasma of stars scorching hot against your skin -- and you slowly awake to the sensation of someone stroking your hardening cock, all steady and slow like the laziest masturbation contest ever.

By the time you've realized what the _actual fuck_ is going on he's got a sickle blade to your throat, the other hand almost desperately pawing at your dick through your boxers, and his smile is all blunt teeth and blackened gums.

"Say no," he whispers to you. "You can push me off. You can kill me. I know you gogdamn can."

"You're messed up," you hiss back, even as his thumb drives into this _one spot_ \-- and white-hot pleasure blindsides your nerves, making you moan low in your throat. "You _know_ I can't do that. Your friends will fucking kill me."

"That sounds more like a you problem, Strider," he laughs, and proceeds to pull down your boxers.

You take each other's virginity that night -- he presses your face in the pillows, sliding his bulge along the cleft of your ass and bites down on your spine, claiming you with his blunted fangs. Physically, you're able to throw him off. You should've gutted him in a moment's chance, even when he digs claws into your chest and thrusts deep into your asshole, the pleasure and pain ramming into you like steel pikes, and you hear --

"_Terezi -- "_

crack from his mouth, and that's the only time he's ever sounded vulnerable. For a moment he's clinging onto _you_ like he's dying, like he can somehow rip out Terezi's affections from your heart and smear it over his own, even as he thrusts into you like he'll win an award for aggression. He _keeps repeating her name,_ gasping onto the syllables, and in the throes of this insanity you wish --

you wish he said your name instead.

You wake up bruised and sore and heartsick, alone on the left side of your bed.

====

"Heard Terezi broke up with you," Karkat says casually, lounging on the sofa.

The common room is bereft of its usual members -- you've been avoiding Rose and Kanaya recently, and the way the latter _looks_ at you makes you think Karkat's mouth's been a bit too flappy for your taste. Then again, you're not exactly keeping up any facades anymore -- hickeys have migrated up to your neck, scratch marks on your wrists, and you don't bother wiping off dried fluids when you stumble out of your room. You look like shit ingrained in a blender. Your aviators have cracked at some point, the last of John's gift dwindling into passive pieces.

"She said she smelled you on me," you reply listlessly, taking the other end of the couch. Back when you and Terezi were still caught in a nebulous relationship, when Karkat was tolerable and didn't pry into your business, you three would watch rom-coms flitting over the screen like moths dying. 

"You didn't tell her about the quadrants...?"

Your anger has petered out into cold, relentless steel. "No," you say, watching lights swim above your head, "I told her I was cheating redrom on her with you. And you didn't know anything about it."

He nods, satisfied. "Not bad, Dave. Thank you."

The gratitude makes you jolt a little in your seat -- and then he's nuzzling into your side, almost affectionate, almost gentle, nosing along the lines of your neck.

You don't bother to fight about it anymore. 

Soon he's mouthing away at your boxers, rewarding you for a job well done -- and you stare up at the ceiling, trying not to cry out from the force of the orgasm, trying to pretend it was still Terezi that touched you, alone and wonderful in the sanctuary of Can Town, and not Karkat unraveling you to your seams. By the morrow all of you might intersect paths in the kitchen block -- and Terezi will turn away from you, this venomous miasma hanging around her everytime she sniffed your way, and Karkat will surely be by her side, apologizing, _comforting_, and all the while giving you the smallest of smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contained way more DaveRezi than I originally planned.
> 
> Please leave comments and criticism below! :D


	4. mirrored (Dave/Karkat)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by kia [Anonymous]:
> 
> "Karkat and dave are roommates & friends with benefits, who both have crushes on each other but don't wanna ruin what they have. 
> 
> [include] mutual pining & nook- eating"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E for Explicit Sexual Content.

It's when Dave sucks greedily at his nook folds, tongue running fervently over every ridge and membrane and coating it with his own saliva, material leaking down his chin, that Karkat gets struck with the relevation.

The sensation is panblowing, really, with every flick of tongue muscle sending strums of pleasure into his nerves. He's practically thrusting against Dave's face without abandon at this point, clinging onto his hair and admiring how soft and white-gold it was, like spun gossamer, and how everytime he traces a claw over the scalp he feels the human shiver, and Dave's face is _smeared_ in pale red when he comes up to breathe, this brilliant flush creeping down to his collarbone --

"_Holy shit,_" Karkat breathes, trying to reel in the image all at once -- how fucking _beautiful_ Dave looks without his aviators, covered in red genetic material, already returning to his nook with almost pathetic desperation as he swipes his tongue from bulge to nook repeatedly. He's making low noises in his throat too, moaning openmouthed over the sheathe, and it's like a thousand emotions being poured into the troll all at once.

"Holy shit," Karkat repeats, opening his legs wider, and it's like Dave's lost his mind -- pale fingers dig into his thighs, prying them further apart, and Dave's trying to stick his tongue up in Karkat's nook as far as physically possible. Karkat is practically sobbing at this point, pale tears glistening down his face, and his orgasm shudders and rises like a broken tsunami --

Just before he comes, Dave rasps out something into his folds.

The sudden heat fragments his orgasm into hot, painful pieces -- his whole limbs seize tight, his head angiing back, red jerkily sputtering from his nook like a particularly copious waterfall. He feels like all his muscles have transformed into jelly. The sheets, as per usual, is ruined, and Dave is a fucking mess from head to toe.

"Shit," Karkat sighs, plopping down on the covers. "_Shit,_ Dave, that was good, how the fuck are you so good at it?"

When Dave doesn't immediately respond, Karkat frowns and peeks his head up again.

The human sits crosslegged on the floor, almost absentmindedly licking his lips even as plinks of red trail down his hair. He's mostly naked, save for his boxers, but even by the awkward vantage point Karkat can see the fabric of his underwear clinging onto a stiff, rodlike outline jutting out slightly. He looks like he went catatonic, his face glassy and emotionless.

"...Dave?" Karkat whispers, hating how his voice cracks.

It's been happening more frequently -- during their more intense sessions of sex, like the time Dave had tied him to the bedpost and fingerfucked him until he came -- the human had always been quiet afterward, like he was trying to process why he was there. It's in the quiet moments of the afterglow, though, when they're haphazardly tumbled on the sheets and simply listening to each other breathing that sometimes Karkat feels like he can _hold_ onto that courage -- the courage to roll over and face Dave, to tell the human that he --

_that he what?_

He knows he's not nothing to Dave -- the first requirement of their friends-with-benefits is still being _friends,_ still enjoying each other's compnay and not letting the benefits intersect with pedestrian life. But at these moments, as he watches Dave unconsciously lick a drop of red from his mouth, he knows he wants _more._ He wants to hold him. He wants to hold his hand. He wants them alone in a little coffeehouse somewhere, watching the sun glister over roofs, knowing he's special in his heart somewhere.

"Did you say something?" he asks instead, feeling his bravery curdle away in the silence.

"Hm?"

"I thought I heard you say something when you were eating me out, jeez."

"Oh. Right." A strange mix of relief and -- disappointment? -- cross Dave's face, neutralizing the expression to peculiar. "Nothing. It's nothing, man, just some random shit that came out. Not a big deal."

Judging by how stiff Dave's now sitting, how his cock is slowly becoming flaccid until his boxers aren't tented, how he's not exactly looking Karkat in the face --

"Do you want me to finish you off -- "

"No," Dave blurts hastily, quickly scooting off the bed. "No, no, that's fine, don't do that. You don't have to."

"Dude, that looks so fucking uncomfortable just _sticking out_ there -- "

"Jesus, Karkles, take the _fucking _hint -- "

"I'm not trying to force you!" Karkat tries to restrain his voice to something manageable. "But -- you're acting, I don't know, _weird._ Usually you're talking about how I practically want to create the Great Flood again or how you have to buy some blankets -- but now you're all fucking quiet, and I _know_ you're not, and I'd just want to know why. Or is that way too fucking personal?"

Dave's laugh is nervous and unsteady. "Dude, can you really not tell?"

_Shit, is he going to say -- is he going to fucking say he doesn't want this, he doesn't want this anymore, it's making shit between us so fucking awkward -- if he wanted me like that then I would know, I'm a fucking romance master, but he doesn't, he doesn't --_

"I want this," Karkat quickly chimes in before his mind can catch up to his mouth, screaming at him that he's not saying what his heart wants, what his head wants -- "Like, I like doing this. Staying as friends and...having pan-blowing alien sex on random days of the week, and if you don't want it it's completely fine and I can -- "

"Staying as friends," Dave repeats flatly.

_No, that's not AT ALL what I want, that's not what I meant -- _

"Yeah," Karkat says instead, staring at his toes. "Friends. That's what we are."

Something _flickers_ across Dave's face -- like shutters closing behind his eyes, sealing away some small, warm treasure that he rarely shows when they're together -- and then he's gracefully standing up, ready to stride practically-naked to the adjacent bathroom.

"Cool, alright," and the word crushes Karkat's heart more than any sneer or contempt. "Tuesday at five, then? You free?"

_You can even pretend it's a date._

"Just for you," Karkat responds, this time each word carrying the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one person POV


	5. in fervor (Signless/Psiioniic/Disciple)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by oxicleanmoron:
> 
> "...i hope you dont mind me requesting any combination of sign/psii/dis (if thats one character too many than sign/psii is equally as good) but like. talk about yearning central. it can be either sfw or nsfw im legit not picky"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated G.

Every troll has two dreams, Rosa explains to you, long after Meulin and Mituna have slunk off to the far wall and are sleeping a little closer in proximity than usual. You suppose it's understadable; they're blood-caste-mates, colors stradding a border, and their temperature differences are minimal enough that they can derive the comfort of lukewarm skin from each other.

"There's always a great dream and a little dream," Rosa explains to you like you're a wiggler again. "For the four of us, all of us share the same big dream -- "

You know your own sermons by well. "Abolishing the hemocaste. Equality to warmblooded trolls. Forgiveness and acceptance to all."

"You really outdo yourself sometimes." She leans back on the wall, bending her head for her horns to avoid impact. "But -- by sheer hypothetical outcomes -- you've achieved this goal. Then what?"

"I'd want to pick a council of rulers," you began, already recognizing your voice settling into didactic tenor -- "I know that monarchy's an established tradition, and it'll be difficult for especial highblood conservatives to dissolve an authoritarian system of rule -- "

Rosa's hand meets her face with a resounding smack.

"What," she elucidates, rolling her eyes at you, "do _you_ want?"

"Smiling wigglers and not getting culled on the streets."

"I'm serious."

You fold your arms and pull a pout on her; it's as ineffective as a buzzfly attacking a hoofbeast. 

"If we were ordinary trolls once again," Rosa goes on, "just us four, all squeezed up in a cozy hive -- maybe by the shoreline, maybe by the meadows, who knows -- what would you want?"

You sigh noisily and lay flat on the ground, folding your hands behind your head. The ceiling swims above you in grainy, blurry patterns. You must be drowsier than you thought. "A lot of things, actually."

"Enlighten me."

"For starters, I'd want _you_ to be happy." You can see the sweetest of smiles across her face, like when you were young and you came hive with a bouquet of flowers, and even if they were brown and drooping her face would light up like a star. "You can sew all the clothes you want. You want to walk out in broad daylight, talk with the merchants, have you and Meulin go out to buy parchment -- I mean, I'm down for that. I'm completely down for that. I _want_ to see that happen, without you fearing for your life or your status -- or -- or _whatever._"

"Thank you," she says quietly, a faint jade brushing on her cheeks.

"And..." you trail off, staring at your two other companions. During the course of your miniature speech they've migrated into each other's spaces, Mituna's head resting on Meulin's shoulder, and how they manage not to poke each other with their horns will forever be preserved as a mystery. "I want them, too. I want to -- I don't know -- explore a town with them. Read scrolls by sunlight. Float pebbles across a pond."

"You want both, do you?"

"If they'd have me." You watch Meulin's hair stir as she sleeps, Mituna's chest rise and fall. "I can't even _think_ in quadrants anymore, Rosa, like -- all the love I feel for them? For you? That's not hard-cut classified into some arbitrary labels the Empire set on us. If I want them more than friends, I'd tell them so. And I do. Again -- if they'd have me."

"You don't want to be constrained," she simplifies.

"If I love someone -- or _someones_," you say, and at that moment the revelation is so straightforward to you -- as easy as breathing air -- "I love them. That's all there is to it, and it's the highest quadrant I could give. That's my biggest dream, Rosa. I want to plant my ass down with all of you and love you like I'd love my lusus and love them like I'd love a quadrantmate, and I want the world around me to be peaceful. _Happy_."

"Maybe," Rosa says, like it's the easiest thing in the world, "maybe you'll get there. Maybe we all can."

====

You won't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somehow I decide to interpret it as...I don't know, lol, but this was more familial-companionship-dreams than romantic.


	6. hope for it (John/Dave)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by hunnibeez:
> 
> "john and dave are best friends, and they try and dance around their feelings for one another. they tend to walk into each other's houses and rooms without telling the other, as best bros do. (i wanna give you creative freedom with this, so choose if you'd like!) mutual pining or fantasizing on either end
> 
> preferably something w/ bottom john, and if hickeys/thigh highs on john could be worked in"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E for Explicit Sexual Content.

AND IT KEEPS HAPPENING.

Really.

For the _umpteenth_ time you push your way into your bedroom, already expecting Dave to be fully dressed in the usual red he decks out -- and instead stumble upon him full-on naked, busily dragging up his boxers over his knees, his hair rumpled and wild in the dawnlight. He dresses slowly, like he's lowering himself in a bubble bath, his hands all pale and graceful as fabric cups over his -- 

"_Dude,_ what the hell?!"

"Crap, I'm sorry!" You reel from the sight, an unexpected heat flaring up into your face -- "dude, I'm, you don't even know, I'm so sorry, I thought you were already dressed -- "

"Could you bother to knock, Jesus Christ, why do think the door was fucking closed -- "

"It was unlocked!" you protest, finally turning around when you hear the confirmation that all articles of clothing have been properly situated. The tension's mostly drained out of Dave, and he slumps passively against your bed, his hair still messy from hastily pulling his shirt on. You two pose there in the most strained silence imaginable.

"So," Dave begins.

"So."

"Not the first time."

"Hopefully the last," you say, and you grin at him, but you can't help but notice the faintest tinge of -- disappointment? -- that tweaks across his face before it smooths out into standard monotony. 

"Yeah," he agrees, getting to his feet, not exactly moving.

It's been a series of awkward motions and feelings lately; you can't exactly pinpoint when it started -- maybe when he had accidentally traipsed into you changing in the bathroom around a couple of months ago? maybe when you had caught him shirtless and cleaning a toy (maybe) katana, sweat still glistering on his shoulderblades --

or maybe, you think later as you both reside on the couch, when you had come to his apartment while Dirk was out with your cousin somewhere and he had played his turntables like a hundred times before, but the sun was setting just right and its light caught on the ends of his hair like fire, and his hands were blurs and beats against the music.

You could watch him for hours, you muse, now putting your head on his lap. He flinches a little but doesn't shove you up, just lightly elbows you in the face and continues to suffer through another bout of Con Air. He's so attuned to your actions it's like synchronized metronomes, the way he runs his fingers through your hair sometimes and you play around with whatever pair of shades he sports on his face -- he's oddly protective of them but allows you to touch -- and how he smells faintly of metal? rust? but also _him,_ the sweat and work and flippancy that he always staggers around like it's his second skin, and the only time he unpeels is when he's with --

Your heart beats in your throat.

"Egbert, for the love of God do _not_ hurl in my lap."

"Wasn't going to," you murmur, doing your best not to tear away from him like a crazed wildebeast. You can't afford to make yourself panic, even if he's staring down at you like you just dumped water on him.

"Dude, you okay?"

"Peachy," you mutter, limping to the kitchen -- you don't want to _puke,_ not necessarily, it's just your stomach twisting up like a demented pretzel because his touch still lingers on your scalp like water droplets. 

====

The dreams are short, blunt, to the point, but at least they have the faux courtesy of dragging you on for a surprise.

They start simple enough: just you and him in your bedroom, he's lazily doodling something on his sketchpad and you're on your laptop, and you can faintly hear music pulsing from his headphones -- and the way he twirls his pencil, chews on its rubbery end, occasionally flicking his shades up to check up on what you're doing --

These little motions sent jolts of heat in your stomach.

The second bout of dreams are a lot less ambiguous -- scratch that, the shit escalated from one to ten in a span of twenty-four hours. You're naked, tied to the bed, and some slim silhouette is braced over you and cupping your face and whispering into your mouth that yeah, it'll hurt a little, it always hurts the first time, but he loves you so fucking much and he'll be with you every step of the way -- 

and then his mouth's grazing across your jaw, your collarbone, molding your ribs to his fingers, and then his teeth dig in your throat -- and you're gasping, jerking, trying to relieve the pressure between your legs, but all he does is press hot lips to your neck and suck harder until you're seeing stars, and one slender hand wraps around your cock with the finesse of an artist and strokes you steadily and lightly, cupping and teasing like there's no tomorrow --

You wake up thinking of Dave's mouth back on your throat, sucking another hickey, his fingers probing into your asshole, your erections sliding sweatily against each other, and you've never felt so ashamed.

You stroke yourself off furiously, biting your lip hard enough to taste blood.

====

Week two of sweaty, secret dreams, and you make a decision.

You'll just tell him.

You'll tell him that you love him as more than a friend, even as you drift off wanting to taste his come, have his head between your thighs, or have him cuddle next to you like perfect puzzle pieces and listen to his heart against your ear. 

He'll be shocked at first -- _like, dude, Egbert, what the shit, where's you liking dudes coming from -- _and you'll be quick to rush into assurances, tell him that you don't want to make this awkward -- _but you were all I'M HUNDRED PERCENT FLAMING STRAIGHT back in high school, holy shit you must've jumped a meter high anytime any dude looked at you longer than two seconds -- _no, no, it's not like that, you just -- you were confused, okay? the person you had feelings for just -- you _know_ them so well, like the back of your hand, and he'll get all quiet and his fingers'll trail to a halt and when you tell him, when you reach after him, he'll flinch away and it'll be worse than a knife to the ribs --

You can't do it.

====

You can do it.

It's a strange dream overall, with you on all fours and Dave plowing into you from behind, treating your body like an object, like a tool to be manipulated, but then he whispers to you that he loves you _so fucking much_ ever since he laid eyes on you and you were -- you were _perfect,_ being straddled like this, being desperate and desiring and completely out of your mind, and you wake up from the force of your orgasm shuddering onto your thighs. 

And in your blitzed-out, electrical high, you decide you'll tell him.

He's staying over at your house again -- he has the spare key, and sometimes -- when you know he's depressed, he's out of sync, he can't bear to be trapped in the walls of a vacant apartment -- he'll shimmy over to your house without preamble or warning, usually checking the carport for the lack of your father's car. You've woke to him attempting to cook breakfast for you before.

But tonight, he's cooped up in your living room, judging by the faint murmur of notes spinning from his turntables. He keeps his spare set in your house nowadays.

You're sweaty, and rumpled, and exhausted, and your heart's in pieces, but when you reach the threshold you realize he's turned up the volume so that it isn't just constrained by his headphones. It's a strange beat -- slow, pulsing, like a retreating surf, but it thrums with the promise of a thousand notes spilling all at once like a vial of stardust. He's half-turned toward you, rubbing something in his hand --

Your heart pounds.

It's a picture of you -- no, it's a picture of _you and __him_ somewhere, the two of you clasping each other tightly and grinning stupidly at the camera. It's the few times Dave's actually full-out beams, and it's a miracle, how every scrap of muscle migrates to his cheeks and his mouths and even behind the shades you can detect the force of his gaze, euphoric and heavy as endorphins. He has to smile like that more.

He's not staring at the photo; more like absentmindedly touching it, fingers grazing over the frame, music pouring like molten silver into the night. And you stand there unseen, the two of you in some strange stalemate in the middle of the night, him all silver and smoke and holding the photograph and you still burning and trembling from your revelation, your feet cold against the ground. You wonder how many times he's held the photo as he weaves out his music.

You wonder what he draws on his sketchpad.

And in those rare, transient moments, where you drink in your friend and realize that yes, you do love him, you love him as a friend and you love him as a lover and the world narrows down to a point of white hair and crimson red, something like hope flutters in your chest. It's unfamiliar and somewhat uncomfortable and maybe it'll be drowned forever if -- _when_ \-- he gives you his answer -- but at a time like this, when the rest of the world's silent outside, you think you'll get used to it just fine.


	7. promise (Dave/Karkat)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by ManipulativeCanries:
> 
> "...I'd really love to see a fic where Karkat and Dave find one of the dead Dave's corpses and Dave's completely chill about it cause he's used to it but Karkat just completely breaks down 'cause he never wanted to see Dave hurt and Dave has to comfort him. (I've seen a lot of pictures online with this sort of idea but I've never found a fanfiction of it)
> 
> Word count: 1500-2000 would be appreciated.
> 
> Specifications: Um...they're already together in a relationship, and...just let them have smiles on their faces in the end? I'm not very good with full blown angst, I prefer angst with happy endings."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T for violence, character death, swearing.

It gets _weird _sometimes, the shit the meteor passes through -- when it's not rocketing away in the hollow darkness of space it's haphazardly splattering through hundreds and hundreds of dreambubbles, the dead and the living alike blending into blurs of color, brief sensations, iridescence from the periphery. Faces long deceased peer at them unabashedly, smiles and skin and motions exhausted, and it should be easier by every passing journey. It _should_ be, it's a desensitization process, long and drawn out like a man on the rack, but all it does is prod a barrel of pain further open.

It's when Dave casually loops an arm around Karkat's shoulders, breathing in the smell of something that should be foreign and unfamiliar but now pools in his stomach like warm tea, the way the shorter boy hugs him around the waist, horns resting against his neck. The bubble glints before them in the expanse of space, glimmering an edge of lavender.

"Dave -- "

"It's not Houston, babe. Don't stress on it." The bubble of Houston hadn't been the most enjoyable of memory trips -- who was he kidding, he had _never_ wanted to bring Karkat into his apartment, to see how vacant and heartless the rooms were, and even at the current moment he still couldn't pull apart what he felt from his childhood and classify it, separate it into good and bad, because there had been strifes and there had been music and there had been puppets and there had been --

"_DAVE!_"

"Shit!" At the last moment he _yanks_ Karkat upward as hard as he can muster, sudden flight propelling him from the ground like a wayward torpedo, even as the two landscapes bubble and collide -- the meteor's dark contours, LOFAF's snow and neon blazes merging into ripples and blurs of hues -- and then it's the cold wavering around them, cutting into their clothes, and for a while they hover in the air. Both try to catch their breaths, forcing their heart rates to simmer down, breathing out heavy white clouds from their nostrils and mouths.

"Holy shit," Karkat finally wheezes out, his eyes drinking in the scenery below, "it's -- I think it's _jade's_ planet, right? I thought it looked familiar."

"Yeah." Out of the corner of his eye Dave can glimpse the Forge, still bedecked in a curtain of shimmering snow. Some weird, painful feeling tightens in his stomach, and unconsciously he's embracing Karkat harder. 

"You're squeezing me," Karkat grumbles, pawing halfheartedly at the human's arm.

"Crap, sorry. Didn't mean to." He barely loosens his grip, though; with tender precision he drifts the both of them to the proximity of the slopes of the mountain. Hard permafrost and bright pink fauna coat the ground in uneven layers, lending it a glimmering sheen that sparkles and twinkles under the sunlight. Around the mountain is copious, dark foliage, pines and conifers -- or something similar to its counterpart on an alien world -- writhing quietly from a coating of fresh snow. It's something he could almost find in a postcard, if the postcard had been drawn up by artists on hallucinogens.

"She had a pretty nice place," Karkat comments, carefully prodding at a gauzy bush with his toe.

Aesthetically, that has to be conceded -- it's all serene, pretty pulse, a lovely contrast against Dave's world of oozing lava and foreboding gears, Karkat's crimson-drenched riverways and ominous architecture. Still, they navigate down the slope cautiously, trying not to slip on the ice, and Dave has the nagging _urge_ to glance upward -- like a bird will swoop down on them any moment and tear them to pieces alive. 

"Hey, look," Karkat says, struggling to rein in a chortle -- "frogs."

And there could not be a thing less innocuous in the universe, yet Dave freezes in his tracks -- and it's not the cold rooting him to the ground. A blue and a purple frog bounce lazily over, bulbous eyes twitching in their sockets, tongues lolling out in wet, slimy grey ribbons.

"I remember the frogs on Alternia could spit out acid," Karkat's saying, actually bending down to poke at one of their distended bellies. They issue a distressed ribbit and he shuffles away guiltily. "Nothing like you human ones. And they're not this pocket-size either; I once saw one two fucking feet tall, and it could jump up to like ten fe -- hey, hey, _woah,_ Dave, what are you -- "

"It's my memory." He's not aware of pulling Karkat away from the _scene_, away from where he had -- where he and Jade had -- where Bec Noir had stumbled upon them --

"Oooookay? And what's wrong with it, exactly -- ?"

Even Karkat can't mistake the sound of rapid, intense gunfire cracking through the air, the _clang_ of blades and clothes rustling and guttural screams torn from dying throats --

"What the _shit?"_

Karkat tears himself out of Dave's grasp and stumbles down the slope, snow streaking across his face like knife scars, and Dave just --- he doesn't know, just lets him leave, just lets him gravitate to a place where blood soaks the ground like water on a tissue paper, because he could block him from seeing or reverse time to ever prevent them from flying down there, but some cold emptiness in his guts tell him that Karkat should _know,_ know that he's not exactly in one piece, that he's been worn and beaten and pulverized to bloodied shards from the game -- 

When Karkat reaches the scene, the fight's long been over. 

What had really happened, Dave muses as he walks up behind a silent Karkat, is that Jade plants a kiss on his blood-drenched corpse's mouth and in a thousand cosmos away some part of himself rips itself back to life -- but here, in a memory so hazily constructed, so tiredly pieced together, flung out in the odds and ends of a universe birthed raw, it's just Karkat crouching wide-eyed over the body, the blood darkening the constant onslaught of snow around the limbs. The dead Dave's been peppered with so many bullets that his torso's barely held together, all stringy guts and pulverized organs and splintered bone peaking through mass of swollen tissue. He would have been unrecognizable if it hadn't been for a pair of cracked, dirtied aviators skewed sideways across his brow.

Almost reverentially, Karkat touches the corpse's shoulder with a single finger, like he's trying to prove the body is tangible. His hands tremble slightly.

"Dude, what are you actually -- "

"Oh my gog," the troll croaks out, his voice hoarse and raw in his throat, his hand migrating upward to the dead Dave's face, trying to map out every inch of facial detail -- "oh my _gog,_ Dave, Strider, you douche, you utter shit, you're -- you're fucking _dead._"

"I know you have eyes, bro. Try not to let them get in the way of anything."

"You're _dead,_" Karkat repeats like a broken record. "You're not breathing, you're not moving, you're -- you're -- I -- "

A rush of concern bubbles up in Dave as Karkat doubles over violently, franticaly pounding his chest to breathe, and then he discerns the pale watery red trickling out of the other's eyes, rolling in slow, languid paces down his face. Karkat's not _upset_ over this, he realizes, he's full-out panicking, struggling to suck in air into his lungs even as he desperately stumbles away, his whole frame contorting and shaking with spasms.

"Yo, no, it's not like that," and there's absolutely no hesitation to envelop Karkat in an enormous hug, patting at his little horns -- "shhhh, dude, I'm here okay? _Shhhhhh. _I'm alright. You're fine, you're _fine,_ try to breathe, c'mon, Karkat, you have to breathe."

"You're dead," Karkat finally sobs out, burying his face in Dave's chest. "I never thought you'd..."

"I'm not dying anymore," Dave explains softly, rocking his boyfriend gently from side to side, because he _knows_ Karkat understands the mechanics of the game, he's had a Time player in his own session, that inevitably there must be thousands and thousands of bodies littered behind for one to even have a chance to survive, but somehow the sight still hits Karkat like a freight train full speed -- because knowing it is one thing, and seeing it -- _feeling _it -- is something diametric, almost unworldly.

"It happens," he speaks into Karkat's hair, hearing the troll's breaths gradually smoothen into high, hard breathing, "it happens, it happens _all the fucking time,_ you wouldn't even believe how many times -- and I won't do it again, okay?"

"You can't fucking promise that," Karkat sniffles, holding tight to the other boy's arms.

"I can't," Dave promises, angling his head back to the sky. The snow still falls, ghostly and light across his face, a feathery finger tracing the veins and arteries and blood of his body. "But I can try. I promise I'll try."

Slowly, gradually, he feels Karkat relax against his collarbone, the arms around him tightening by a fraction. They stay there for some time until the snow starts dissolving into the air, fragile and ephemeral as crystalline dust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i legit forgot what happened at the frog forge


	8. backstab (John/Dave)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Pepsicoke [Anonymous]:
> 
> "Cheating in general. I’d like to suggest John cheating on Dave with Dirk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E for Explicit Sexual Content.

These days John probably thinks your shades are fucking opaque, like you can't _see_ what the fucking hell's actually unfolding before you, that because you don't react when he says shit like --

"I'll be out a bit longer."

"For what?"

"Catching up with some friends." And he flashes a smile that's all adorable buckteeth and crinkled eyes, the smile you fell in love with, and you _can't_ strangle him -- murder's illegal, domestic violence depravable -- but sometimes you wish you could. You wish you could just wrap your fingers around his throat and _choke_ him until he's dead, dead and cold, but he'll still be with you.

And sometimes that veers into yandere territory a bit too often for your taste, so you just watch him leave through the door. Give the man the benefit of the doubt.

You don't point out to him that yes, you've been living with Dirk for sixteen years, you know what specific smell of cologne and metallic sweat he produces, and it's coated all over John's clothes like he just got personally doused in pheromone spray. You'd recognize that smell even if you were tied-up upside-down over a vat of acid.

"Back," he slurs at you, not drunken-slurring -- not anything he can pin off of soporifics or alcohol -- but exhaustion-slurring, like post-afterglow, and what makes you pissed off all the more is him cuddling right next to you like the old days when the only smell on him was his own sweat and toothpaste mint. "Dave. _Dave._ I love you, you miss me? Did you miss me?"

"Sure," you say.

"Had a great time -- "he hiccups, his eyes struggling to stay open, "had a -- a -- it was _awesome,_ you don't even know -- "

"I don't," you interrupt, and it takes all your willpower not to shove him onto the other end of the couch. "And I sure as hell don't want to know."

He's asleep before his head even knocks into the cushions.

====

In any other scenario, how the two of them met would've been beyond adorable.

It was at a library; Dirk offhandedly mentions to you about some bespectacled kid, John gushes to you about the librarian that _just so happens to look like you_ \-- down to the shades and all! -- and you know where this goes, you've watched enough romcoms with your other best friend to know what the hell's about to happen, and your smile that day probably looked like you chewed your own dick off.

"Obviously not as great as you, dude," John laughs, clapping your shoulder affectionately. "You know you're one of a kind, right?"

"Apparently two now."

"Jeez, I was joking! He doesn't know me anyway," he whispers conspirationally in your ear, "I mean, you probably mentioned him the maximum of two times -- _two _times! He's remarkable, Dave. He really is."

Back then, you had brushed it off -- it's perfectly reasonable to admire someone. You've admired Ben Stiller past the boundary of platonic feelings and you knew Nic Cage had the honor of being John's 101 introduction of his right hand to his cock. If it happened to be your brother, then so be it. You had a thing for Jade once, anyhow -- it's nothing abnormal. Completely natural. Maybe a little off-putting.

Nothing alarming.

====

"So it was _too hard_ to tell me you stayed at my bro's place for the weekend," is the first thing you greet him with, relishing in his flinching, "like, that's too much difficulty, the ability to pop off a text in like five seconds is too much for your motor control of your hands."

"I don't have to tell you everywhere I go," he snaps, his eyes brighter and harder than usual.

"Right, play the possessive-boyfriend card. It's not that I was _fucking __worried_ when you didn't answer a single call, and _definitely _not me freaking the fuck out when no one knew where you went, and _voila!_ you were at Dirk's place the whole time. See the goddamn picture being painted here?"

John looks like he's about to rip his hair from anger. "It wasn't _like that,_ you inconsiderate idiot -- "

"You're not making point A to point B a hard conclusion, dude. You like him, you gush over him, you stayed over the weekend, you didn't bother to tell me. This is fucking classic. It's practically vintage."

"Spit it out, then," your boyfriend says, all proud and defiant like he'll win a medal for brass balls. "You're worming up to some accusation -- why don't you spit it out instead of being a coward?"

"_I'm _the coward -- !"

"Yeah!" and he's pushing you down on the sofa, his hands still cold from the outside, and your faces are inches apart -- "yeah, why don't you -- yeah -- why don't you say it then? Say what you're trying to say. Come on, Dave, we know you're good at saying things."

"_Egbert_ \-- "

Your mouths meet messily, roughly, as he pushes your head to the back of your couch, the other one bunching up your shirt -- he's practically straddling you, his legs taut astride your hips, and your anger's pooling below the belt and melting into his electric, sun-hot _need_ to take him apart.

"Fuck," you gasp, when his lips slide down to your throat and every scrape of teeth makes molten liquid thrum in your veins, "holy _shit,_ fuuuuck, dude -- "

"Does it _look like,_" he hisses out, using his teeth to drag down your undershirt to expose most of your chest -- his tongue finds a nipple, lavishing the bud with spit until you find your hips pushing up without any control, trying to relieve this brilliant, awful pressure between your legs -- "does it look like I want anyone else, Dave, you drive me so _fucking crazy_ \-- "

"Only you," you gasp out when you're able to breathe, even as his hands are unbuckling your belt and pulling down your boxes, and you're already at half-mast -- "dammit, John, I only -- you're -- _oh my god_ \-- "

He fists your cock almost angrily, twisting at the top, and it's just his cool fingers warming against raw skin and precum and you're about to lose your mind, thrusting into his hand like an animal in heat, and when his fingertips brush your scrotum you sob out his name -- his other hand's in your hair, dragging nails across your scalp, and you come in a burst of pain and pleasure that pounds through your body like amphetamines. 

====

He _does_ love you, you think in the weeks coming, in the way partners are supposed to love each other -- he trusts you, he feels affection for you, he honors your opinion and listens to you. You do the same for him to the best of your ability.

And that's not enough.

Maybe he likes Dirk, you think, because your brother _resembles _you to some molecular degree -- maybe when he's sucking your brother's cock he's imagining your facial expressions, your hands pulling his hair, thrusting deeper into his throat, and he can do with Dirk whatever he really wanted to do with you because there's no loss if he messes up, just a relationship severed, and Dirk'll live and he'll live and lives return to equilibrium.

That's what you tell yourself, anyhow.

Some days he can't look at you in the eye at all -- and you wonder if it's some sort of mind game, some implicit manipulation that he's guilty and he wants to apologize but he _can't_ because he's gambling a risk, he'd rather lose Dirk than lose you, he can't come out and say it -- and when he does meet your gaze, it's with quiet steel, like he's silently defiant of your presence, a giant _fuck-you_ to whatever value you mean to him. Or vice versa.

And then there's the days he stays out later, later than ever, and you're alone in the apartment, and all you remember is how he used to laugh. To smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maaaan i am rusty af at john/dave jesus christ


	9. dilemma (Sollux/Aradia/Feferi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Lighteningbug6 [Anonymous]:
> 
> "Feferi’s POV
> 
> Maybe taking place in the dreambubbles. Sollux has conflict over being half alive (and staying with aradia) and half dead (and staying with feferi)"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E for Explicit Sexual Content.

There's an old story you used to tell Eridan -- back when he actually listened to you, Gog bless his severed soul -- over the mariner's conundrum.

It's, frankly, a stupid tale --

" -- and he has to decide," you tell your once-moirail, both of you surrounded by flitting cuttlefish, "whether he wants to stay on land, be reunited with his old love, or stay out at sea and be with the siren princess."

"Which one can he gets more power?"

You frown at that. "I guess, the princess? Mayyyyybe. I don't think that's the question here."

Eridan breaks it down simply enough -- whichever holds more of the power dynamic, more of the weight of control, is the highly preferable option. But in Sollux's case -- _very much_ in Sollux's case -- it has nothing to do with power, and everything to do with affection.

And it makes it ten times scarier.

It happens when you're in some stray bubble -- evidently his neighborhood, as there's no sea in sight -- and you're walking along wild grass, the sky still ruddy and flushed, and he's showing you around the lowblood sector; it's not all rot and doom like Eridan preaches, but the hives _are_ smaller and dimmer and the stones are cracked and worn under your feet. You both sit on the porch of his hive, its top mysteriously blasted to shreds, and he rubs the inner edge of your right horn softly. The moons are perfect from this angle.

"Is that...?"

It's like you rouse from some deep slumber, still just aware of his thumb trailing along the sensitive membrane, purrs rumbling deep from your lungs -- and then you _snap_ awake, the world spinning into focus all at once. He's standing, his hand carefully disentangling from your mass of hair, careful not to pull on your tangles, and his eyes are squinting into narrow slits --

"Sol...lux?"

"Holy shit," he breathes, the black hollow of one eye almost comically huge. "I think -- oh my _gog,_ she's -- "

And he's running.

He propels himself with psionics, black-and-white sparks glittering around his shoes as he half-runs, half-flies across the grass, and you have the sick sense of dread creeping into your stomach like you've swallowed something sour. You're tripping after him, not bothering to yell at him to stop -- thankfully you're fuchsia, so it's not the most strenous activity to keep up with him. You lope after him across empty sky and dusty ground, and the hives shrink even smaller, the roofs and floors lopsided --

When the neighborhood peters out into nothing but endless barrens, you find him running into --

Huh.

You stand at a respectful radius, watching him full-on embrace a rust-red-doused, fairy-winged Aradia Megido, his face lost in her curtain of hair.

====

"...and then I was alive," Aradia's finishing, her face stretching into the sort of smile you've only seen in movies, the kind that twists the face into something unrecognizable -- "and near this huge green star -- and apparently you saved those left on the meteor, Sollux! I don't think I have to say I'm proud of you."

You're all cooped up on what used to be Aradia's roof, legs swinging aimlessly over the edge. Aradia's wings have neatly tucked themselves into the garment she's wearing, but she's _thrumming_ with power, with vitality, like she has the ability to break every bone of your body with a single twitch of the finger. Maybe she can. You've seen Vriska in God Tier, the full culmination of her power into something powerful and lethal and beautiful like a sword carved out of stars, and you wonder if Aradia's the same.

"I popped like a defective sauce packet, though," Sollux grumbles.

"If it makes you happy, you're only half-dead -- " and _you_ had told him that, you had told him that the first time you found him curled up on the sands and his eyes were diametric colors, still covered in yellow blood, and you had walked him through the steps of being dead, but by the way he's listening to her every word it's like he's learning it all over again. It makes something small and bitter twist inside you, and you bite your lip and stare out at the translucent bubble layers instead, barely detecting the glimmers of stars and worlds beyond. You can't ever cross those walls, not like Aradia can, you're stuck and trapped until some law of probability changes your scenery.

The perks of being dead.

"You haven't said anything," Aradia pipes up, and it takes a moment to realize she's talking to you. You'll be honest in that you've rarely ever talked with her -- you _should've,_ it would've made some fitting parallel to be talking to the supposed bottom rung of the blood spectrum -- but then she was wires and metal and eerie red-glass orbs, and you were a heiress rendered obsolete and with absolutely nothing better to do.

"Say what?"

Aradia's giggle sounds like a track pulled straight from a horror film. "You want to know about things outside the bubble?"

Do you? You know that functionally, Karkat and Kanaya and Gamzee and Terezi are still alive, healthy and well like Aradia, and from glimmers of conversation apparently the humans nave arrived as well. You wonder if the light-green one's with them. You liked talking to her.

"FF?"

Right, they're still waiting for your answer.

"I overheard stuff," you say instead, shrugging off the silent pain. You'll pinpoint it out later. "But -- I was wondering -- "

"Yes?"

"You can go to any bubble you like," you say. You didn't _mean_ for your voice to drop so flat, like you've been scrubbing your mouth with steel, but your question almost comes out as a statement.

"Any!" she replies cheerfully, never losing that smile, but Sollux gives you a little frown. They're sitting a lot closer than they've started the conversation with, their knees brushing.

You roll the next question around in your mouth carefully, letting it loll on your tongue.

"Can you take people with you?"

"Not if you're dead, no," and here she giggles and pokes at Sollux's shoulder, and he's grinning this stupid happy smile that shows off his newly-budding fangs -- "but if you're half-dead...I mean, who knows? Dream bubbles work weird out here!"

"They do," you agree, and you persuade yourself that the smile you offer them is genuine.

====

"FF."

"Hey."

"FF, c'mon."

"Hm?"

"You're all quiet," he observes, both of you lying in a soft patch of grass, the moonlight as steady and constant as always. Aradia had left you around an hour ago, presumably to "clean up" her hive, and she had promised she'd come back.

"And I'm not allowed to be or what."

"No, no, nothing like that, just -- " he draws in a frustrated breath. "Are you upset? Or something?"

"Why would I be upset?"

He raises an eyebrow at the sudden sharpness in your tone.

He really can't be this dense. You fold your hands under your head, winding them through your curls, feeling the grass tickle your skin. "You really can't see what's going on."

"Is this something to do with AA?"

"You cannot be this pan-fried."

"Are you jealous?" He's actually _curious,_ the poor thing, all friendly and inquisitive like a little minnow. "I mean -- I've literally just met her, I've missed her, I've missed her a lot -- but we can talk about it, it's cool -- "

"It's not about _quadrants,"_ you say, like that word has any meaning to you -- once the only one that mattered to you was your diamond, your defender and your defended, until he had the kindness of blowing out your guts with one shot. Sometimes you still wake to the daymares of your blood splattering across your skin, Kanaya's high, wheezy gasp of surprise, the way Eridan watched you sink to the floor as you tried to speak, tried to say something -- _I'm __sorry? fuck you? why?_ \-- and Sollux blurs the boundary between flushed and pale as he pulls you close to him and pats your horns and tells you you're safe, you won't die, you're safe and comfortable and your ex-moirail's a thousand light years away -- and maybe you'll even see him again someday, when you miss him at your nadir, at your peak, in your intermissions.

"Are you going to leave with her?" you ask him instead.

"...what?"

"Leave. With. Her." You feel tired and exhausted, like all your energy's being leached out of your bones. "She's alive. You're half-alive. The universe is crazy. If she's touching you you probably have the power to walk straight out of this glubbing bubble, walk right off without looking back."

He looks like he's been hornswiped, his jaw straining to drop to his chest, and you wait patiently.

"What."

He might as well go out -- literally -- with a bang.

Psychics can toss you like a toy, helpless and powerless in their tendrils, but physical strength is another story. In seconds you've rolled on top of him, your mouth slanting on his, and the fact that you're about to fuck right in the open field only has you stroking your tongue across his lips in hot, swift motions, hearing his breath hitch as he returns the kiss. Your hair spills and frames around your bodies. He makes a gasping sound as you kiss down his throat, scraping your teeth across his warm veins, and his hands slip up to the back of your thighs.

"_Nnngh_ \-- FF -- "

"No psionics," you whisper at him, tracing the lines of his collarbone with your tongue. His fingers probe between your legs hesitantly. "Just -- just let me touch you, okay?"

"Sure," he whispers back, his eyes wider than usual, watching you part your skirts, pull down the fabrics, leisurely stroking your bulge as you straddle his hips. With deliberate slowness you unbutton his jeans, letting your fingers trail across his inner thighs until his breaths are shallower. You don't have to breathe, though -- your fins are pulsing with blood, a blush creeping up your neck, but they're all aesthetics.

Meaningless.

You claim him slowly, almost sleepily, long used to how tight and wet and _warm_ he is around your bulge, a glistening ring encircling to your base, and a rush of heat pools into your groin -- you're aware he's making hiccuping, almost sobbing moans, gasping out your name, and your lips touch again and again like he's the air you need to live. 

"_Gog,_" he whispers, his voice cracking, and you know there's more than just lust in his tone -- "gog, fucking _hell_ \-- I'm -- I -- I -- "

When you reach your climax, you melt into nothingness, just a puddle of warmth and salt and him mouthing the words over and over on your neck, dropping from him like shattered porcelain --

====

_I'm sorry._

He had the decency to dress you and carry you to the remnants of his hive. You wake up to a stale scent of honey, of dead wires and fizzing sparks, and the wind whistles hollowly above you.

It's times like these, you think wistfully, that you wished your ex-moirail was around. Or anyone, really. You're not too picky at your lows.

You don't bother searching the skies for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, so in this canon Sollux can't just straight-up "leave" the bubble -- he has to be with someone alive to do it. The dead, of course, can't leave their bubbles at all.
> 
> Also, I removed most of Feferi's fish puns because they kind of detract a lot from her speech and thoughts at times? Like, kind of devalue it? If I ever write Nepeta or any other character that excessively puns I'll probably give them the same treatment.


	10. educating (Rose/Kanaya)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Kuroitora_chan:
> 
> "...They argue over historical clothing for human and troll history.
> 
> Give me a happy ending. Everything has been depressing or ambiguous so far."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E for Explicit Sexual Content.

tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA]

TT: The pagne's so-called "primitive" origins do not diminish its importance.

TT: Once in use in West Africa before our world was subsequently annihilated by a meteor, the pagne was often used to present sociopolitical or economic messages in the secrets of untailored cotton.

TT: Its multiple uses, seen here:

TT: **preparetobeoneuppedintheprofundityofgarments.png**

TT: If your society had such practical, yet stylish clothing, do give yourself the honor of letting me know.

tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA]

"This," Kanaya muses, lounging lazily against the couch cushions, "is a moylak. I created one myself when I was four sweeps old."

Rose's smile could be cut from glass. "And what age would that be, Kanaya?"

"Not even at nine in human terms." The smirk Kanaya gives her sets every nerve on edge, like the troll is purposely prodding at every bit of Rose's temper as possible, even as -- with deliberate slowness -- she spills the disaster of fabrics onto the carpet. Kanaya resumes her original position, one leg crossed over another, watching Rose crouch down to touch the clothing.

It bears little similarity to any Earth dresses Rose has experience with -- for one, the bodice is looser and more billowy around the stomach, tight at where spine meets neck, and it reminds her how trolls are composed of completely different muscle formature despite a superficial likeness. The sleeves are of more interest; at first glance they are like any standard brocade robe sleeves that droop down to the belt, but closer inspection unearths tiny, cut slices parallel to the torso should the wearer be in a relaxed state -- and the fabric shifts and glistens, like fresh morning guttation, the fibers thin enough to trail off into empty air.

"It was worn often among purplebloods," Kanaya explains as Rose rubs and pinches the fabric between thumb and forefinger. "Despite being placed favorably on the spectrum, their tendency to maintain a respectable distance from urban centers -- oft near empty barrens or seaside or whatnot -- ensures a flexible, if impractical clothing to dress in on a daily basis. The temperatures vacillates wildly at the coasts, especially during daybreak."

"Fascinating," Rose bites out.

"I thought you'd find it so. And," and here Kanaya leans forward a little, her smile widening to reveal only the tips of those delicate fangs, "I'd gather that you would look alluring in them, Rose. Would you like to test out my hypothesis?"

Rose imagines herself for a moment -- bedecked in something alien, not conforming to the foreign biology of a species light-years apart, having Kanaya mouth at the skin exposed -- and shakes her head quickly, a blush rising to her face. The last thought is promptly eradicated. Kanaya is of endless entertainment, and baiting her, poking at her, probing around for holes in her walls -- it is always a pleasurable activity, but it is only that. 

Nonetheless, she can't help pushing out a bit of her own flavor.

"If you test out mine," she responds, letting her own smile grow.

tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA]

TT: Would you first prefer an appetizer, or would you like to deroute straight to the entree?

GA: If You Are Referencing Your Inferior Fashion I Would Recommend Derailment

TT: Touché.

TT: I've provided a brief description of the esteemed sampot chang kben: a ceremonial garb usually worn by men in the Sukhothai Kingdom, often used to establsih royalty and superiority over common individuals.

TT: Which is also an angle I'm directing at you for the moment.

GA: Why Are Your Clothes Based On Gender Distinctions

GA: Is There A Difference Between Raiment Among Your Genders

TT: I suppose it's the same answer to why you distinguish clothes based on blood caste.

GA: Why Dont You Come Over And Show Me Its Full Extent Then

Rose takes her sweet time laying out the garment before slipping it on; the silk rustles softly against her skin, cool and dry, the pants legs loose around her calves. It's a beautiful, heavy gold, flushed with dyes of red and blue and bronze at the edges, the wrap-around snugly cradling her chest. Her shoulders and lower back are bared. She takes her time to Kanaya's respiteblock, each step calculated against the ground.

Kanaya's response is...interesting, to say in the least.

A heady, dark jade flushes up her face, and Rose -- _not_ in panic, of course not -- checks over her own body, wondering if there's some unsightly blemish or horrid stain -- but Kanaya's gaze is focused on the contours of her collarbone, the curve of her shoulder, the way her torso curves into heavy silks and simmering colors. Almost unconsciously, she licks at her bottom lip.

Something dark and warm stirs in Rose's stomach, but she refuses to be cowed or ashamed. She feels like a model.

"Adequate," Kanaya finally croaks out, her eyes gleaming with -- _desire? confusion? shock?_ \-- and again, runs her tongue over her canines, dark grey muscle catching onto needle-sharp points. "But I think Alternia will be able to prove you better."

TT: It appears most similar to a lavalava.

GA: Ill Assure You That It Doesnt Bear Any Resemblance To Your Human Culture Whatsoever

GA: Its Called A Laraza

GA: Yes Theres A Skirt But Ive Also Added Implementations

GA: Did You See The Wrist Cuffs

TT: They're certainly hard to miss.

GA: I Constructed Them From Organic Grub Sheddings

GA: For The Belt I Plated It From Various Lusus Droppings

TT: Lusus droppings.

GA: Theyre The Unused Raw Oft Extraneous Material Our Lusii Give To Us

TT: Your word is verdict, then.

GA: I Think The Top Should Put Yours To Shame

GA: It Acts Like A Vest Until The Sternum To Which It Then Branches Into Two Wraps That Descend To The Top Of Their Legs

GA: Each Is Threaded With Small Beads Of Stones Of Your Blood Color

GA: If Karkat Were To Be A Willing Subject He Would Look Better In Decorated Rubies

GA: Or Vriska In Dark Sapphire

TT: And what about me, Miss Maryam? Surely I deserve a notice on this new line?

GA: Dog Dung

Kanaya, however, is generous with her own touchings -- true to her word, jade-green emeralds drip from the clothing like dew as she saunters into the common room, the rest of the fabric trailing behind like wing feathers.

Rose forcefully tries to keep her mouth shut.

"What do you think, Rose?" Kanaya's smile is downright predatory when she dips into a bow, her dark hair curls brushing across her brows as she does so. "Is it up to your qualifications? Or do we have to dive in for another round?"

There is nothing inherently sexual about the clothing -- but it's the _way_ Kanaya carries herself in the dress, full-on confident on her appeal showing through, that has Rose staring intently at clothing-clad outlines of legs. She wonders what'll happen if Kanaya were to sit down and raise one leg, let the skirt slide to her hips, let Rose kneel between her and taste what laid in between --

"Prepare to concede?" Kanaya asks Rose, smirking all the while.

Yes, Rose thinks, but anger and irritation and lust make an ugly combination, and before long she's spitting out, "No. Of course not. That, at best, is mediocre."

"I'm sure it is," Kanaya replies almost sweetly.

GA: Rose

GA: Rose

GA: Rose

GA: Rose

GA: ...

GA: Are You Okay

GA: Can You See These Messages

GA: Why Are You So Stubborn Sometimes

GA: I Wish I Can Just Strangle The Stupidity Out Of You

TT: Kinky.

GA: Hush You

TT: You don't need to be worried for my sake.

TT: Why don't you come to my room?

The halter dress took nearly a whole hour just to be clothed upon, along with suitable makeup and adornments, but it's all worth it when Kanaya barrages through the door and sees Rose standing proudly before her. The side-slit cuts down all the way to her waist, the neck strap chafing, but she can't miss Kanaya's eyes flickering over her shoulderblades as she does a sarcastic twirl.

"Thoughts and opinions?"

"Can I touch it?" Kanaya asks, and again Rose notes the jade color filling up the troll's face. "It looks exquisite enough."

"I see no reason why not."

But it's when Kanaya's in _such proximity --_ fingertips brushing across her shouders as she plucks at a strap, nails lightly flitting across the border where cloth meets skin, that Rose is aware how loud her heart is pounding. How close their hips are together. How much skin she's revealing.

"Kanaya?"

"You look terrible," Kanaya snaps, and then she's sliding her hands into the folds of her dress, hands enclosing around Rose's abdomen, tugging the human closer until her back's flush against the jadeblood's chest. "You look awful. You look like trash."

"Do I -- "

Their kiss is slow, heated, quickly rising in pitch until it is Kanaya mouthing along her throat, her hands roaming up to cup Rose's breasts, thumbing at her nipples, and Rose gasps and keens and grinds back against Kanaya's hips, quickly aware of a growing hardness against the back of her thigh. Kanaya moans softly, fangs dragging across the intersection of neck and shoulder, before pushing Rose to her knees.

"Eager," Rose comments, her smile wolfish before she adjusts to crouching under Kanaya. Kanaya leans against a desk, spreading her legs, and slowly Rose hoists up the troll's skirts.

"Lalonde -- "

Rose balances attention to both Kanaya's bulge and nook; with slow, wet licks she stimulates the nook until it's swollen with arousal, jade veins tender and raw as she probes them with her tongue; with the bulge she tongues at its base, at the membrane between the bulge and the nook, licking with deliberate slowness until Kanaya grabs her by the hair and almost mashes her face into the juncture of her legs. Then Rose gives up all self-control: she sucks long and hard on the bulge, lips puffy, eyes half-lidded, and carefully eases a finger into the nook's glistening folds. Waves of warm, sexual heat erupt in Kanaya's stomach, until all she can focus on is a long, drawn-out moan torn from her own throat, peppered with gasps, and Rose's soft whimper in between.

"You cried like a baby," Rose later says with too much satisfaction for one covered in jade-green genetic material, her smile full of razors. "I'm surprised you even lasted this long."

Kanaya wastes no time ravaging Rose's mouth with a kiss, hand slipping down the torso towards the human's own slit -- however, she does have the strength of mind to peel off the stained halter dress. It's a shame such fine garments had to be ruined in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aksdhajdhasdasd the fashion part was definitely fun, but the pitch is...barely there. *Facepalm
> 
> I did try to include as much diverse clothing as possible! And Kanaya's clothing styles are inspired off of Renaissance and Polynesian clothings, respectively.
> 
> NGL this was a pretty cool prompt! i wish i could've done it more justice :(
> 
> Sorry for the wait, readers!


	11. admire (Vriska/Karkat)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by ManipulativeCanries:
> 
> "Vriska has a hate-crush on Karkat and when Karkat nearly hurts himself really bad by accident (maybe something falls and almost crushes him? You can decide this) she gets really freaked out and goes off on him (because he could've been killed or badly hurt), and then tells him that she has hate-feelings for him. They don't need to actually get together, but maybe Karkat's really flattered and embarrassed and they start hanging out together more.
> 
> End happily. This takes place on the meteor. Not really important but just in case, please make Karkat and Dave best bros, I don't want to see them hating each other."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T for swearing.
> 
> So, I am TERRIBLY SORRY for not keeping up on schedule -- but this past month's been absolute hell, and sometimes I just sat before these requests and not a single thought gets pushed into my head here. I will finish up the rest of the requests soon and maybe open up this book again -- in the meantime, again, I apologize for this month-long delay.

You don't even know what to _say_ to yourself. You're the one pushing at him lately, trying to see how many expressions can physically fit on his face, and he's stamping like an absolute lunatic at his corner of the room.

"Kaaaaaaaarkat -- "

"Vriska," he groans, fitting his whole hand on his face, and you have to -- with _tremendous_ effort, you must add -- reel back in your smirk. "You know what my dream was all along when I woke up? My absolute, fucking vision of paradise? It was talking to you. It was coming into this room to get some fucking food and seeing your creepy-ass spidery face and, really, just really, it just radically lights up my day. I'm beyond _flummoxed,_ you pan-fried -- "

"Is this your way of saying good morning?" you say casually, leaning against the doorframe.

Karkat opens his mouth to rebuff -- and then closes it, because there's never enough coffee in the world for him to shut up.

Wait, he pulls it off. Number one kudos on him.

"Yes,"

Something sweet and sharp zings in your chest like a good kick of distilled sopor. He's -- well, you're not sure if it's the most applicable of terms -- but he's _adorable_ when he goes off on a spiel. Maybe that's what attracted your palemate to him in the first place, the way he twitches and froths with boiling energy, like some fucked-up dying star, and sometimes you'd think _he's_ the one powering the meteor to its destination by sheer willpower alone. It's one of the few things about him you always had to admire --

_Admire? What the fuck, brain. You meant irritated._

Irritated. Right.

Riiiiiiiight.

"Anyhow," you continue, trying not to notice him pacing around like an ant on fire," what's on today's plan, fearless leader? Or are you going to just be cooped up in your room again?"

"I am not _cooped up_ in my room," he snaps at you, his face darkening in rage. This is child's play, really. You deserve a pat on the back. "I'm just -- I'm just planning, you know -- "

"The meteor isn't going anywhere with your intervention," you retort back, unable to stop your smile stretching out on your lips. "I mean, not much ever does, but this one's even less likely -- "

"Not for _you,_ you're incapable of following any _reasonable_ orders -- "

"No one follows your orders, Karkles, just admit it -- "

"I _KNOW THAT!_" The sudden outburst of sound surprises you; he actually attempts to stamp his feet, but stoppers his leg's velocity at the last moment, and it only results in a light tap against the ground. "I _know _that. I know no one listens to any shit I say, even if I'm trying to save their fucking lives, and the only reason we're even _getting_ anywhere is because my matesprit had to _fucking explode_ to get us moving!" He tugs at his hair furiously. "So yeah, thank you for reminding me, shit-for-brains! I can't stop anyone from even killing each other. I couldn't even save -- "

Okay. Ooooooookay, maybe you feel a little bad for prodding at raw wounds -- he really did try, after all. The effort was genuinely, truly made. You wonder if you should go up to him, pat him on the shoulder -- not a conciliatory one, of course not, you already had a moirail -- but maybe like a _calm the fuck down get a hold of yourselves _pat, slap it through him that he's still the leader you all got and there wasn't anyone better, and yes, he's not responsible for _every single little thing_ \--

by the time your thoughts coalesce into you taking a step forward, he's gone from the room.

====

_Unlike_ Vriska's claims, you don't make a beeline for your room -- you find yourself in the common room, where only a certain cape-wearing douchebag drapes himself over the couch like he owns it. He's busy drawing out something in his sketchbook when he notices you.

"Karkat."

"Strider," you return, and take the remaining cushion available. There was a time when the two of you bitched over who would monopolize each square foot of plush cushion fabric, but those days are long gone and past and you find his toe insistently prodding your side, the rhythm irregular but comforting. The thing about Dave is that he's annoying as fuck, but knows how to sort out the dark, ugly emotions that often threaten to rear their head in your mind.

"Vriska again?" he notes when he sees you hold your head in your hands.

"Yeah."

"She call you out on something, or...?"

"Just reminded me that we lost practically half our team getting here." You've got their names burned and memorized in your mind. Tavros. Nepeta. Equius. Eridan. Feferi. Aradia, alive and smiling and lost a thousand stars away. Sollux, promising he'd always stay with you and then breaking it to a thousand pieces. Once there had been twelve of you in a lab, arguing and fighting and squabbling, and now all that remained of them were dried smears that no one bothered to wipe up.

You can feel Dave's gaze through his aviators.

"You know," he says slowly, like he's writing out each word on his stupid sketchpad, "she once told John that you weren't too bad of a leader."

"Bullshit."

"You united them because of their mutual annoyance of you." Somehow, the smallest of smiles around his mouth takes the sting off his words. "She said they would've all killed each other if it wasn't for you. Don't beat yourself up on this, dude."

"I -- "

"You saved our universes, bro," he says to you, that grin still lingering. "Maybe she's anglin' to tell something like that to you."

"...I don't know about that," you concede, but you relax in your square foot of cushion. Dave's pencil continues to scratch against the paper, comforting and repetitive, and you gaze steadily at the ceiling above.

====

Okay, so you _might_ feel bad about what you said to Karkat.

Because it's not wholly true. Scratch that -- it's pretty much the damn opposite of true. How many times did he pry apart your former kismesis and the freaky psionic, shouting at both of them to shut the _FUUUUUUCK UUUUUUP,_ or snap at Equius to lay off on the hemocasteism while simultaneously complimenting his robots, or give a wayward side pat to Gamzee, or -- just -- _really,_ he reared the worst of your team in. When you could've torn _anyone_ to pieces, he reminded you -- all of you -- that there's another universe to save, another universe to give hope. He stood on his desk and shouted hoarsely and everyone rolled their eyes, and they functioned. They worked in harmony. You didn't kill anyone, Gamzee didn't kill anyone, Eridan didn't kill anyone. That was practically unprecedented in Alternia.

_Maaaaaaaaybe_ you should just apologize to him.

You can almost feel the headache the resultant scenario would bring; he'd probably gloat, or told you he was right all along, or maybe -- and you shudder at the thought -- he'd curl himself up into an even tighter knot of guilt, until your words were falling on deaf ears and punctured with the force of hammers. He wouldn't even _hate_ you. He'd just...

concede defeat, you suppose.

And thinking that he's curled up somewhere -- not crying, not throwing shit at the walls, just laying next to his 'coop and letting your words slowly mould into emotions inside his head -- has you scouring the hallways for him.

"Kaaaarkat?" you call out, hearing your voice ring off the rafters. A subtle shift of shadows has you reaching for your die, but it's just a light flickering. Your steps are loud and echoing in the corridor. "Karkat, hey -- listen, I wanted to talk to you about something."

Silence.

So he's either not in his room or he's passed out in a miserable stupor. You push away the second thought and decide to trail to the common room -- you don't expect him to be there, especially if he wants to avoid you, but you need to start your search _somewhere._

Predictably he's not there either; the only resident is Dave, who's busy writing down something in a notebook. He glances up at you minutely when you stand before him, those human headphones still strapped to his ears.

"Yo."

"Karkat." You fold your arms with as much lethality as you can possibly pull off. "Where is he. I know you know."

"I think that's called 'jumping to conclusions' -- "

You stare down at him.

Dave sighs obnoxiously. "And I thought I'm the one to keep secrets." He jabs down towards what was once the 'east' hallway. "I tried to cheer him up a little," he calls after you as you head toward the corridor -- and at that you pause and turn back to look at him -- "but...yeah. Gotta clean up after your own messes, if you know what I mean."

You roll your eyes at him.

This corridor is a little wider -- less dusty, and you'd suspect it cleaner from Kanaya's ministrations -- but it does lead to the cooking block. Often it's Terezi that gets the food (whatever her weird heart desires, and you're hardly one to argue) and then just unceremoniously dumps it in your arms, and you two would spend a field day trying to distinguish passable grubloaf from foods conjured in the darkest, dirtiest pits of hell. The air even smells strange here; the alchemizer has produced some _bizarre_ crap over the perigees.

"Karkat -- "

In the dimly-lit block he's 'busy' standing before the alchemizer, his back to the shelves, where so many of your once-living companions had stowed away their items -- you can see Equius' hoard of robot scraps, Aradia's collection of polished skulls (you're surprised Dave hasn't swiped them away yet for his own hobbies), Sollux's old torn-up husktop, _Tavros_' -- and here your heart clenches up a little -- folded, rusted wheelchair. A pile of Feferi's golden jewelry. One of Eridan's abundant capes. Nepeta's pelts.

Maybe that's why he's here, surrounded by food and dead friends. Perfect comfort combo.

"Karkat," you call again, and he _jumps_ \--

And several things happen at once. You can _feel_ your left eye's pupils dilating, shrinking, this ripple of pain torching along your nerves and retina and straight into your brain, even as you're reaching for -- not _him,_ because his back's colliding with the shelf in his surprise and he's staring up with wide, wide eyes, and Equius' robot parts and clanging next to each other and one of them's teetering on the shelf edge, and it --

Your die's already clattering on the ground, cerulean blue flaring into sharp spikes as a lattice of azure interlocks over his horns -- and you're _barreling into him,_ shoving him onto the ground, even you can _feel_ the weight of the part as your matrix -- for the briefest of seconds -- holds it in air, and then it dissolves and the piece _collides_ into the ground. The impact spreads thin, spiderweb cracks onto the ground.

You and Karkat both stare at the spot, both of you breathing hard.

"...wow," he finally rasps out, all the anger literally punched from his voice. "Holy shit. _Holy. Shit._ Oh my gog."

You feel almost reckless, giddy, and now you're feeling the aftereffects of fear -- it sweeps through your nerves like frigid water. He could've _died._ He could've been squashed flat, pulverized into a thousand bloody pieces, and unlike you or Aradia or the humans there's no way in hell for him to come back. He'd be dead there, and you'd have to drag him out and tell Terezi why he was like this, tell Dave why he looked like grounded fruit powder, and all because you couldn't cap a fucking filter across your tongue.

"Vriska -- "

"I'm sorry," you gasp out, touching his hair, his horns. He's _alive._ He's alive because you saved him, and not a moment too soon. "I'm sorry, my fucking Gog, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry -- "

"No, no, it's -- " he shifts under you and you realize you're somewhat straddling him, keeping him pinned under your weight. A dull flush crawls up your face as you quickly roll off of him. He coughs a little, pounding at his chest, and pushes himself to an upright sitting position. "I was gonna say _thank you_. For -- "

"You don't have to thank me for that." The words feel foreign on your mouth, and yet so _right._ "I just -- I wanted to say sorry. For earlier. Didn't mean any of that."

He stares at you with borderline incredulity. "Are you kidding around, because I've _literally never_ heard those words fall from your mouth before -- "

"_YOU COULD'VE DIED!"_ you practically shriek at him, and at some point you've got his shirt twisted up in your claws, dragging his face closer to yours -- "and all because I couldn't keep my _fucking_ mouth shut, you could've been bloody paste all over the ground if I was just late by _this -- much -- _you stupid, _stupid_ idiot, you don't even know how much you mean to us -- to _all_ of us -- you little twisted freak, if you died everyone would've -- " and here your sobs sputter into rasps, and you're hating yourself for leeting your emotions out, letting _him_ see you in this weak, degraded state, all crying and pathetic and a sordid mess. You'd tear out your own lungs if you could. You don't let him go, though; his shirt fabric is warm and dry against your palm, and when he moves to --

uh, what the fuck --

_hug_ you, his arms solid around your shoulders, this peculiar warmth blossoms in your chest. It's the same warmth you had when you're curled up in a pile with Terezi, only that it's laced with something more electric, something more heated and simmering in your gut. 

"That's one hell of a confession," you croak out as your epiphany crashes into you, leaving your head reeling.

"Yeah," he breathes, awkwardly patting you on the shoulder. You can't recall the last time he's ever touched you without rancor -- or in this case, without contempt.

Do you feel hopeful? Crushed? You can't tell; your emotions curdle and stew in your stomach like rotted soup. "I'm sorry," you repeat.

"Don't be," he mumbles, drawing away from you. There's the faintest tinge of pink in his cheeks that as your stomach turn -- not painfully -- at the sight. "I -- "

"Yeah?"

"I'll...think on it," he grits out, unconsciously tugging at the hem of his sweater. "But -- "

You wait with baited breath, willing your heart to slow itself down.

"I'm flattered, I guess." His smile is genuinely one of the sweetest things you'll ever see. "And thanks. Again. For saving me."

_No,_ you think. _Thank you. For saving all of _us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made the blackrom a bit pale.
> 
> Sneaked in some redrom Solkat...woah, how'd that get in there.


	12. rebuild (Sollux/Terezi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by themadamepsychosis:
> 
> "Terezi starts to have pale feelings for Sollux after he is blinded (I love this ship and it absolutely does not have enough fics).
> 
> Bonus points for Sollux going through a depressive phase and Terezi taking care of him/making him eat and shower. The more angst the better! :) "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T for gore, swearing, f e e l i n g s.
> 
> Again, terribly sorry for the wait.

You suppose it starts when him and Karkat stumble up the stairs, the swirling darkness of corridors and dead lights painting terrible shadows across both of their faces, both of them stained with drying golden blood. It's the only spot of color as it drips along the floor. Even in your rather limited vision you can detect its sharpness as it spills on the ground, like a flower blossoming in the centre of a darkening cave.

"He's blind," Karkat gasps out, breaths heaving from hauling Sollux around, and you can smell his _fear_ \-- sharp, acrid, as it unfolds in the air like spice -- "oh my Gog, Terezi, he's blind and I can't even -- if we get attacked, I don't even know -- "

"I'm here," you whisper to him, prodding his toe with your cane. You can protect him, surely. But you can't protect both of them. "He's blind? Like me?"

"Yeah, just like you." Sollux's voice is hoarse and it rattles low in his throat. His lisp is gone, you realize. There's no contempt in his voice, no distress -- he could've been talking about the weather in his normalcy. "Courtesy of ED, really."

"Mr. Appleberry -- "

"Tell her what I look like, KK." He sounds so _unaffected,_ like he's just strolling through the park.

Karkat sucks in a rough breath. "He's -- okay, first of all he's covered in yellow gunk, and he's missing his teeth -- "

"Thanks, KK."

"Shut the _fuck_ up, you shithead -- " Karkat's voice edges near a frantic sob. "He's -- his eyes are all dead, dull, his psionics _burnt out _his eyes -- and why are you _smiling,_ you dingbat, I thought you fucking _died!_"

"But I didn't."

"That's enough, Karkles." The image you conjured of Sollux in your mind sends chills down your spine; he's a wraith, a bloodied, passively-smiling spectre of the sarcastic asshole he used to be. It creeps you out to the max. "Sollux, how are you feeling?"

"Honestly?" You can literally _hear_ him shrug, like he hadn't been on the brink of death just an hour before. "I feel fine. I'm not hearing voices anymore."

The three of you huddle in the hallway, the smell of golden blood slowly decaying into something metallic.

"I think we'll be okay," he adds in.

====

_ i think we'll be okay._

When everything settles afterward -- when Gamzee is subdued, when TZ skewers through VK like she'll win a prize for stabbing, when ED's lying in bloodied, severed halves, when FF's nothing more than mangled ruins -- you repeat the words in your head. Oddly enough, they resonate nicely with you. You sit where Feferi once sat and slip on her goggles, and they fit perfectly around your eyes.

Footsteps tap lightly, hesitantly, around you.

"KK?"

"Nope," they say, and you curse yourself a little. Karkat has -- well -- not _exactly_ heavy steps, more like he's trying to pound in his feet in the hopes he'll appear more intimidating than life dictates. Terezi's steps, on the other hand, are graceful and quick across the floor, a third sound of her cane scraping lightly along.

"Sorry, still getting used to this." You turn to where you think she's standing and pat to the pile of horns you and FF once shared. "Come on. You can sit down with me."

"I can't." You frown a little at the tone of her voice, but shrug it off. You _know_ you're not supposed to be this calm, this serene, when Jack's on your tails and the humans have severed all contact and half of your friends lie in dead, rotting pieces. Maybe _serene_'s not the right word, though, not when it feels like when you're trying to instill any emotion your chest hitches and this slow, dizzying pain rocks up your skull, a reminder of the voices that once echoed in your every brain cell. It's either to sit there, listen to KK and TZ's anxiety with amused detachment, or have yourself sink further than you thought you could go.

_Listless._

That's how the dead feel, you'd think, listening to the meteor whir and sleep beneath you.

"Why not -- "

A force suddenly wrenches you upright, and the next thing you know you're being propelled by a pair of chilled arms forward, almost stumbling over your feet. Her cane _thwacks_ you hard on your ankle.

"TZ, what the hell?!"

"You've sat there for _days," _Terezi snarls at you, fingers surprisingly gentle on your shoulders. "I _know_ you have. You sat there for days and you're touching Feferi's goggles and you're -- you're not moving at all, and we don't even know if you were conscious, and no one's got the guts to disturb you. At all. _Gog,_" she pleads, and you shift uncomfortably on your feet.

"I'm fine, TZ, really -- "

"This isn't you," she snaps, shaking you lightly. "You're not supposed to be some passive quiet guy just sitting in his own pile of shit, you're supposed to be -- I don't even know! -- up and walking, frying computers, bitching and snarking and complaining and doing whatever you were doing."

"I can dictate my own life," you say tersely.

"And you smell _atrocious,_" she says, neatly bowling over your words. "Come on, I'm going to take you to the ablutions chamber."

"TZ -- "

"You're still wearing the clothes you got blinded in," she reminds you, and you have to sigh a little and admit defeat.

====

He mostly does the washing himself -- scrubbing diluted soup over pointy shoulder-blades, long limbs, ashen grey skin -- but then he asks you to hand over just a bit more soap, please, or the towel, and of course both of you swear not to peek at each other's spots. And then laugh.

The perks of being blind, you suppose.

The water's long been shut off, and you stand outside the chamber, listening to the drops plink on the stone. The water's off and he's not coming out with a request for his clothes. A sour pit of dread festers in your gut as you press your ear to the door.

He's crying.

Not full-out bawling -- he's not crying the way Karkat would, losing himself entirely to the throes of grief and despair -- but it's silent, shaking sobs, like tremors trying to erupt from the ground. You imagine him kneeling in the tub, hands cupped around the remnants of his eyes, feeling yellow blood and tears coagulate around his fingertips.

And then you think of your own hands -- you _felt_ the cool fluid splash on your palms, the fluid of beautiful, cerulean blood, the slow, wet sound of her body hitting the pavement. You wonder if he's trying to feel for fresh fuchsia. Dead rust. You wonder if he woke up after the first time, crawling among the rubbles and ruins, held her close to his chest as blood stained his clothes.

You know you did the exact same thing.

At some point both of your sobs intermingle, your breaths hitching, and you cry just like him -- you cry in the company of deep, endless sorrow, like your heart will compress and rent into bloody halves if you don't break into your hands, let your tears glide down your palms and wrists and down your cane -- the very same cane that you tore her heart through. You would do it again. You would _do_ it again, over and over, until she's paste in your grip.

The door's opening --

"TZ?"

He's still clad in a towel, and you can hear how unsteady his voice is. Without preamble he lets you hold him, feel warm water mix with your own, and the two of you sit there in the hallway for a good deal of time. 

====

"I forgot I can still taste shit," he says after a pause, chewing on the grubloaf.

The two of you sit alone in the cooking block. Karkat and Kanaya are somewhere else, Gamzee is presumably still tied up in a cell somewhere -- although if he truly wants to break out, nothing on this meteor could truly stop him -- and you're -- you're just sitting there, listening him to eat. There's a hollow squishing sound where his canines used to pierce, and you can tell he's trying to get used to the sensation.

"You haven't eaten or slept in a long time," you murmur. Somehow, your hand finds his wrist, dragging the nail of your thumb lightly across membranous skin. It feels...weird. Not uncomfortable, just _weird._ "I can't always be here to guide you around. Maybe I'll trade you off to Karkat -- "

"_Gog,_ no," and there's that raspy laugh, the one he always used to have, if raringly. A lot of things about him, you're dully realizing, are coming into sharp focus now that you spend more time in his presence. Things like how he eats left-handed, because his right one is squeezing your hand a little, computer calluses dragging over your weapon-hardened ones. You relax into his touch, listening to him finish off the rest of his food, until it's just crumbs grinding against teeth and slow, calm sips of water to wash it all down --

Shit.

You don't know any other word for the sudden, tight swelling rising in your throat, spreading through your veins like lazy honey, leaving your head blissfully peaceful.

You're feeling -- 

...

well, damn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> accidentally includes a bit of solkarezi, because that's the best OT3 that ever existed.
> 
> o o p s


	13. together (John & Rose & Dave & Jade)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by ManipulativeCanries:
> 
> "The game is over and everyone's living on Earth-C and what not (we'll be ignoring the Epilogues for this) and the four friends decide to get together to hang out for once, since they're all usually busy hanging out with the others. During this hanging out time one of the friends says or does something that accidentally triggers Dave badly because he remembers one of them dying in another timeline and it freaks him out. The others help him relax and learn just how many times Dave has had to watch them die (he gained memories from all the timelines after getting to Earth-C).
> 
> Length: 1000-2000"
> 
> Specifications: End happily, giving them a group hug would be preferred, I'm not really looking for this have 'relationships' but you can like, mention that Kanaya and Rose are together or that Dave and Karkat might be going out, I just don't want that to be the main focus."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M for mature themes, swearing, non-graphic violence.

"Shit like _this,_" Dave finally says, lolling back on his chair, "is why we gotta do this more often. Are you sure we never had a cookout together?"

"I'm positive," Rose says, prodding at the grill.

Really, none of them have ever gathered for a social event on Earth; to each other, they were fuzzy webcam images and colored text rolling down the screens. The four of them in one geographic location, unhindered by adorable nubby-horned trolls or classy jadebloods or whatnot, is a sight as rare as Dave taking off his glasses.

Currently he's sitting at the ocean's edge, watching waves of foam and salt lap at the pebbles -- a little further out he can see the faint silhouettes of trolls and carapacians toeing the water, the former no longer having to fear from genocidal seadwellers. Jade lounges in the seat right next to him; John is a bit farther down the strip of beach, trying to stir the brine into miniature eddies.

"How's Vriska-hunt going so far?" he asks Jade.

"Still MIA," Jade replies, frowning slightly. "I told Terezi I could just go along with her, zap around space for a while -- shut me down faster than blinking. She said this was a 'personal mission,' whatever that means." She shrugs her shoulders wearily. "I'm not going to interfere with whatever they had, but I'm keeping an emergency tab on her."

"That's cool," Dave says.

John's returning from his walkaround on the beach. There was a time, Dave thinks amusedly, when John had the biggest, stupidest crush on Rose -- spamming the former with walls of blue text at the mere sight of purple pestering _him_ \-- and even when the universe got destroyed twice and he has to watch alongside her daughter to see her die among the sands and he had to revive to see her dead and cold and bloodied -- and _damn,_ even if the attraction's gone, crumbled to utter dust, Dave can't deny the two glancing at each other with unspoken words as he joins her at the grill. 

" -- ectobiology surely granted us a boon," Rose's saying, deciding to give it up on the grill. The meat's half-black on one side and raw, dripping red on the other. John lets a gust of sharp, strong wind blow away the smell of burnt fat. "At least you and Jade didn't fall into the trap."

John and Jade glance at each other, then burst out laughing.

"Are you saying you and Dave -- " Jade makes a crass gesture, and Rose's eyes bug out comedically -- but the words hit _hard_ into Dave's mind, a ball wrecking down dozens of his forts at once, shattering brick into pulverized rubble. The beach disappears around him; he's drowning, drowning in a cascade of memories that flit and pulse like dying hearts, and he's _remembering --_

He's remembering saying goodbye.

Somewhere out there -- or maybe not at all -- there's a Rose who tentatively reached out to him over Pesterchum long after John and Jade have gone silent, a Rose that confessed that _they_ might as well make something work, and even if it was just awkward words and tumultous feelings wrapped up in a layer of sick, cold dread, it was _something_ \-- the same flutter that draws Dave to Karkat nowadays, the same flutter cementing Rose and Kanaya together -- and it's not the "incest" part that strikes him in the stomach as the memory of him saying --

_I don't know._

He doesn't know if that Rose still even exists. If she's still there, ultimately alone in a dead timeline, still waiting for something -- _anything_ \-- to happen.

"...Dave?"

"Fuck," he swears, voice ragged, because memories keep pounding into him like rotting ooze -- memories of a dozen, of hundreds of lifetimes, pouring and festering until belatedly he realizes he's kneeling in the sand. Shells and shrapnel dig hard into his knees. Hands are touching him, patting him on the shoulders, but he's curling up inside.

"Dave, _Dave,_ listen to me. Take a deep breath."

"You're alright, Dave, _Jesus!_ You're okay -- "

Rose's face. Rose's _face,_ thin and pretty and utterly _terrified,_ staring back at him with despairing eyes, and the sight of her so _hopeless,_ watching the Green Sun spiral and explode into creation, was a sight that would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. Neither of them had even had time to scream -- to beg their friends for help, to apologize. 

To say goodbye.

_John_ \-- shit, he thought, _shitshitshit_ \-- John had turned on hsi audio headset, still speaking, unable to hear Dave from a thousand worlds away, and his excited chatter over his denizen's lair had dwindled to confused whispering and then --

a short, choked scream, the _crunch_ of bone --

and he had gone silent.

And then there's Jade --

_Jade,_ Dave thinks wildly, something sharp trickling into his memories, the feeling of bullets tearing through his spine and her wiry arms cradling him, fingers brushing over his heart, snow slathered over bare skin. Swords stabbed through his heart and stomach. And he still tried to protect her, collapsing onto her body, the final sensation of this blood drying on his clothes -- her body deathly still beneath him.

"Dave -- "

"I can't," he gasps, pounding his fist against the sand. The heat and impact drives spikes of pain up his arm, shuddering through his sinews, but he can't _get them out of his head_ \-- he can't un-remember the taste of coppery blood, their soft, almost resigned sighs as their last breath leaves their bodies, the sounds of blades scraping along the ground. There's nothing on Earth that will make him forget, not when he's seen it a hundred, a thousand, a million times, over and over and over until these memories are branded and seared into his mind like burning coals --

"DAVE!"

It's Jade's voice that tears him out of his deadlock. She's holding his shoulders gently, salt-slicked hands stroking his hair, and then there's John and Rose on either side of him -- she's slowly removing his aviators, stroking his cheek, and John's patting his arm awkwardly, hammer-callused hands rubbing into his palm. He _feels_ their heat on all sides of him. He feels their damp, sweaty skin and it should gross him out, all sticky and clammy, but the sensation roots him. It reminds him they're _alive, _very much so, warm and concrete and solid under his touch.

"You remember," Rose says, and it's not a question."

"Yeah," he whispers.

"How many...?" John's voice is low, his glasses digging uncomfortably into Dave's shoulder as he tries to hug him.

"I don't know." Dave can't pinpoint how miserable he is, can't define how he feels like his heart is shuddering and squeezing under every beat until he's gasping desperately for air. "I don't -- I _know,_ okay, I'm a filthy fucking liar, but I don't want to -- I don't _want_ to tell you -- "

"Zero," Jade whispers in his ear. Her mane of soft hair tickles his face as he turns to her. "Zero times, Dave. It's over. You're with us."

"I'm with you," he whispers back at her.

"You're with all of us." He isn't sure who said it, but it doesn't matter, not when Rose embraces him lightly from his left and John's squeezing him hard on his right, the sun blistering and raw across their skin. The surf pounds against the beach, the distant sounds of splashes receding as Dave retreats into their heartbeats -- slow, steady, and 

ultimately _alive._


	14. reevaluate (Terezi/Karkat)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by ManipulativeCanries: 
> 
> "Karkat and Terezi hang out together alone on the meteor for the first time in forever. They talk about their relationships (Terezi's one with Makara and Karkat's one with Dave) and Terezi comments about how she's not entirely sure she's happy. After she asks Karkat how his relationship with Dave is, he's super reluctant to tell her it's really good because he feels bad. Terezi then goes on to explain that she just wants Karkat to be happy, just like he always wanted for her.
> 
> Preferred length: 1000-2000 words please.
> 
> Specifications: End happily. Maybe have Dave come in at the end and let him and Karkat have a fluffy moment while Terezi just smiles, feeling happy for Karkat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T for Swearing, Mild Violence.

Running into Terezi is a bit like wading through water -- it's not the most comfortable of courses, and normally you'd be adverse to it, but sometimes you have to steel up your gut and paddle up shit creek when it's just the two of you in the common room and the nearest hallway is currently blocked off by a lump of pillows you and Dave had used several hours ago. It's pretty much culminating in Terezi sitting quietly at the foot of the sofa and absentmindedly stroking at a scalemate.

You try to inch around her -- you really do, and you're proud of your increased stealthiness over the sweeps -- but Terezi's as alert as a hound and her head is snapping up and she's staring at you through those red, red shades, her face twisted in -- not a smile. Not the smiles she used to give you, the shit-eating grin that shows off way more chompers than ever fucking necessary, but now her expression's just...tired.

She never looked tired before. Not during the Game, not when you two fought back waves and waves of imps, not when the Black King's tendrils darkened the sky into boiling pitch, not even when she had 'seen' an alternate Dave die on her screen. You've only seen her so weary once; it's when you stumbled up the dizzying spiral of stairs and find her standing over Vriska's body, her cane still fresh with cerulean.

Exhausted. Resigned, even.

"Karkat?"

Fucking. Great.

But even you're not that big of an asshole to turn away from her, not when she smiles like she's smelling the last remnants of good in the universe. "Hey, Terezi."

"Thought I smelled your cherry from somewhere." 

"You caught me." Some natural, innate gravity still pulls you into her orbit, the longing to be the center of her world the way she was once to yours. You haven't touched her since that fateful day where everything went to shit and all you could do later was to hold her, let her cry out onto your shoulder, your hands stained with the blood of so many friends you failed. In some twisted way her grief gave you comfort because it assured you that you weren't the only one about to crack into absolute hell. If she was going down, then you'd go down with her.

But that was eons and eons ago, back when two universes haven't reunited yet in the most bizarre of ways, and now you're cuddled up with Dave in your respiteblock and listening to his music and Terezi's -- Terezi's _alone_ in the common room.

"Where's Gamzee?"

"He left." Terezi's hand moves around a little, and a few moments later you realize she's trying to hold your hand. It's so different from the way Dave holds it -- she's not shy about it, just looping the joints straight around yours, nails borderline painful against your palm. She's grabbing onto you like she's afraid you'll also leave her. You're smart enough to squash down the urge to pat her hair, her horns, tell her you would never turn away from her no matter what the two of you have been through. You turned your back on Eridan and Feferi's bloodied pieces. You turned a blind eye to Gamzee and now Nepeta and Equius' bones rot deep in the vents. You took your eyes off Vriska, and Tavros is nothing more than brown, bloody smears.

"Did you two have a fight, or...?"

"A _fight -- _" she pronounces the word almost contemptuously. "I wish there was a fucking _fight,_ it'd give him a reason to stay. No, he just -- he -- " she gestures with her hands, trying to snap out the anger that's clearly present in her tone, but her fingers crook and then relax like she's slumping down all at once, just letting gravity take her where it goes. "He just -- comes in here, _says_ things to me, tells me I'm no better than those I've killed, I _tell_ him he's a fucking -- "

"Woah, okay, okay," and it's just a natural urge to embrace her, smooth out hands along her shoulders as she starts to cry. Something in your heart feels like it breaks, chipped and shattered, at the sight of her mouth all twisted and her shades slipping down to her nose, teal tears staining her cheekbones. Once, a long time ago, you wanted to be the one to wipe it away and run your fingers through her hair, but now all you can do is watch. Grief bubbles through her like a quiet, yet violent, storm.

"Don't think I'm happy with him," she murmurs in your shoulder. The phrase _you think?_ is braced on the tip of your tongue, and with extreme difficulty you swallow it right back the fuck down. Only minutes ago you were in Dave's bedroom, one of his shitty headphone sets strapped over your ears, and you were both laughing and wheezing at the insane lyrics he churned out -- and just rooms away was Terezi, being yelled down by somebody who had _utterly no right _to even fucking _speak,_ as far as you were concerned --

"Don't," she says, noticing how your hands tremble. You want to _throttle_ someone; preferably yourself for not being there, being right besides her, even though you promised her. You _promised_ her you would be. You're a fucking hypocrite for even getting mad when you couldn't do the one basic decency and not let her face _him_ alone. 

"Terezi, I swear to fucking -- "

"Don't," she repeats, and you hear some of the old Terezi: the one who cuts off background noise with a tone that dripped acid, the one that wasn't afraid to wander into a battlefield with nothing but a shitty cane. It's an instinct for your muscles to freeze up at her tone. Slowly you disentangle from her, letting warmth crawl over your skin once more.

"Let's just," and here she turns to you, and you've never felt something simultaneously unnerving and reassuring as she stares at you blindly. "Let's not talk about him, okay?"

"I can't just -- "

"Just for today," she pleads. You bite back the wave of resentment and loathing back into your guts, where you know they'll haunt your sleep later.

"Okay. Alright."

She relaxes then, and the smile that breaks out across her face is the smallest, sweetest sight you've ever laid eyes on. You want to plunge your head into a pot of boiling water. "Thank you, Karkat."

"I...least I could do for you." Absentmindedly, you place a scalemate in your lap, letting your fingers caress its rough fabric. She used to always want you to hold one, shove its disgusting snout in your mouth, and now it lies small and limp in your hands.

Both of you sit in silence for a while.

"So."

"Yeah."

You listen to the air vents whirring.

"Anything you want to tell me about?"

_No,_ you think. You could tell her about Dave, you suppose. You could tell her all about how he's got the laziest of smiles when he sleeps, or he fiddles around with the fringe of his cape when he tries to show you some of his songs, or sometimes when the two of are watching movies together he likes to loop his arm around you and stroke your shoulder, just feeling the curve, and you just -- you just _lean_ into him, breathe in his smell, letting the quiet take you afar. You could write a damn novel about Dave.

Terezi's smile is still there, just barely playing around her lips.

"I'm fine," you say, and the confession makes you want to hurl.

"Really."

"Peachy."

"I'm glad, then." You never even voiced what or who you were thinking, but as usual Terezi's already predicted your thought process. Like always. "I'm happy for you. For both of you."

"Terezi..."

"I'm not going to be mad or jealous, Karkat." She strokes at your knuckles, her touch the same as always. "You deserve it. You deserve it as much as anyone."

You grasp onto her hands, trying to let her words sink deep into your heart, enveloping and cherishing with a hot, strange fervor that makes you dizzy. Dave's important to you, but so is Terezi -- and you've known her for _sweeps._ You've known her as obnoxious teal text spamming across your husktop screen, you've known her when she carried you in her arms and took a joyride around her planet with her rocket wings, you've known her when you sometimes see her scribbling chalk drawings all over the wall, face scrunched up in concentration, fingers and tongue painted red. Your bright, candy-red -- and she told you she loved it since day one, because it meant everything and nothing to her at all.

_Gog,_ you loved her, and you think you never stopped.

"You too." You don't even have to say what you're referencing; you just hold her hands a little tighter, wishing you could keep this moment longer, as if it's just the two of you against the world again. "You deserve it too."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> karezi is just a classic ship
> 
> didn't include the specific ending (sorry!!) because...not sure, but for me the story was pretty much karkat-terezi centric and while dave is cool and all i wasn't sure how to include in the dynamic between these two individuals. i mean, what these two have is some of the foundations of friendship/romance for HS, and i wanted to go more in-depth on them, so...yeah. sorry about that.
> 
> story takes place in a timeline like the OG one (not the retcon) but Dave and Terezi don't really hook up and Gamzee and Karkat never really start up a palerom. just fyi


	15. razor edge (Roxy/Porrim)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Theslavequeen:
> 
> "...porrim being possessive/manipulative, maybe getting a bit murdery if someone is cruel to roxy
> 
> also id love it if you wrote roxy as transfem"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M for Graphic Depictions of Violence, Suggestive Content.

Even after its supposed closing hour the club's still thick with colored smoke and haze; the daytime patrons of assorted highbloods and midbloods alike have long vanished to their own business when the moon rises. At night the seedier edges of society crawl in; familiar faces blur into dizzying outlines, the sight of crooked horns and chewed cigarettes and red-steel shades dotting over the place like alarms. Their presence is comforting in a way, Porrim decides, but it doesn't do much to curb her irritation when she sees Kankri at the bar counter, toying with a glass.

"Absolutely not."

"Latula's doing it," he complains, nodding towards Latula busily kissing Mituna against the wall. "Just -- come on, Porrim, just one sip. It won't hurt."

"So in the daytime you complain about all of us being hypocritical, sin-festering degraders, and then at night you're -- "

"Just one sip." he repeats.

Porrim grabs him by the collar of his obnoxious sweater and yanks him close to her face, nails digging into the very fabric she stitched for him. "I don't _care,_" she hisses, "if your _stupid heart_ still isn't over her yet, then _g__et_ over it. There's a reason she doesn't want you, and you're not helping yourself like this."

Kankri's eyes are saucers when she shakes him. "Porrim -- "

Porrim releases him abruptly, and Kankri nearly slides off the stool in surprise. She sucks in a deep breath and wrests her gaze to the ceiling; it's not fair to take it out on Kankri, who -- in the very end -- is just a misguided wiggler, albeit one who could really learn to shut the hell up every now and then. She smoothes out the wrinkles in Kankri's sweater, letting her irritation dissipate into fondness.

"When you're more emotionally stable," she reassures him, "I'll find you a drink. Okay?"

"Y-Yeah. That's fine."

"Splendid." 

She wanders off from her pseudo-ward then, for a moment tempted to lose herself in the club's rave, lose herself in the lights and music and bodies and emerge at nighttime, renewed and arisen, but she has a job to do. Other people to take care of. She goes through door after door, hearing cheering and giggling and moans in the rooms closed off, and her heart twists a little. They're _happy _in there, no matter what state of mentality they happen to be in. They've got someone they can trust. 

Someone they love.

The stage's runners are currently taking a break, and Porrim threads herself through the half-drunk crowd of trolls to the corner near the bathrooms. Roxy is sitting there on a stool, alone, nursing a cup of water in her hand. 

"...hey," she greets Porrim, seeing the troll stand a good radius from her. "Did you...uh, want something?"

"How are you doing?"

"Fine, I think." She pats down her body for emphasis, and once again Porrim finds her eyes drawn to the heavy slopes of chest and stomach, long, firm legs stretched out under the skirt. "Did you want to see my show or somethin'?"

"Maybe later."

"Okay. Okay. That's cool." She takes another swig of water, still acutely aware of how Porrim's looking at her. The jadeblood wanders a little closer to her, casually hooking a single claw on the strap of her dress, and Roxy tries to suppress a shiver. Slowly Porrim lets her finger trace up the lines of the human's shoulder, feathering over neck and jaw until it cups her face almost tenderly.

"You've got a nice face, Lalonde."

Roxy, whatever her misgivings, turns her face to the touch, her eyes fluttering slightly. "...yeah. Thanks. I've been told."

At that statement Porrim flicks her claw at the cheekbone -- not deep enough to cut, she has no wish to see scarlet beaded on her nail -- but with enough force that Roxy gasps softly in pain and flinches away. She doesn't get far, though, before Porrim's grasping her entire jaw, memorizing the contours of skull and flesh under tight, parchment-white skin.

"_You've_ been told." It's not a question.

Roxy has long learned not to fight to free herself. "Like -- it's normal night, Porrim, there's gonna be people who see me on the stage, and, and, some tipped me some pretty big bucks -- _hey,_" she protests when Porrim traces the edge of her tongue, lolling out all pink and pretty against her lower lip. "Hey. I'm not -- "

"What'd you say to them?" Porrim whispers. Very acutely she can see the muscles of Roxy's throat twitch as the human swallows nervously.

"That -- _ow,_ uh -- that I'm not interested? 

"Alright." Porrim can't help the flutter of pleasure that thrums low in her stomach, that Roxy has closed herself off to so much bloodthirsty trolls, their gazes clinging onto her exposed inches of skin like one dying from thirst. For a moment of cold, possessive rage, she thinks about peeling their eyes out, scooping them cleanly out of their sockets to lick and chew, to tell them that Roxy was _hers_ and hers alone. No one should watch her the way _she_ does. No one should ever get close enough to touch her face like this so intimately, feeling the pulse of blood and heart millimeters beneath her fingertips.

Roxy's eyes have grown half-lidded as Porrim's touch drifts lower her neck, fingers grazing the Adam's apple, ghosting across her collarbone. The human is simply transcendent in appearance tonight; a cloth glimmering and soft, almost colorless, drapes across her torso and leaves her shoulders exposed. Porrim draws closer to her, to Roxy's wiry, lanky frame, slowly easing herself into the human's lap.

"Porrim -- "

"You don't want it?" Porrim is loathe to force her desire on someone else, although her hand stills over Roxy's chest. She can feel the tightness of pectoral and nipple brushing against her palm. "You want me to leave? Not ever lay eyes on you again?"

"No, no, it's not that -- "

"You don't want to see _Dirk_ again?" At the mention of his name Roxy's face transforms from confused arousal to outright anxiety, and it makes hot jealously flood Porrim's gut. There are only a handful of people Roxy ever allows to break down her walls willingly, people she haven't even spoke to for _perigees_ \-- surely she should've gotten over them by now. It's unhealthy, really, being obsessed with someone that didn't even feel the same way she did.

"I..." Roxy's eyes are like gemstones, bright and wide and piercing in the dim glow. "No. I don't...not want that." She flushes at her own words, her cheeks filling up with this wonderful pink, and Porrim can't help but drag her mouth over the hot, taut skin, letting her eyes flutter from the sudden swell of desire that ripples from Roxy's heat. "I -- _jeez,_ I don't -- "

"When's your break over?" she says softly in Roxy's ear.

"...I -- " A single shudder freezes up Roxy's limbs, like a puppet frozen in ice, but then she relaxes and allows Porrim to lean her weight on her more. "Like...in a few minutes, maybe? I don't think they'd -- I -- "

"Closet K," Porrim informs her, letting her voice sink as flat and neutral as possible to prevent any betrayal of excitement. "I'll be there in five."

Roxy doesn't bother opening her mouth; she wets her lips almost nervously, one hand rubbing at her neck where Porrim has lightly pressed her fangs against, and at the last second lets her body comply with the order. She's gone in a whirl of spiked perfume and golden hair, and something hard and heavy throbs in Porrim's heart as she watches the human go.

_You'll never have her, will you?_

She stamps out the thought with a flourish.

Five minutes is plenty of time to make a plan of attack -- Porrim wants to see Roxy's mouth water when she enters the room. The pub mirror is fogged from the haze, droplets oozing down its silvery rim like mercury, but it's cogent enough that she can rearrange her hair until it falls evenly down to her back and lets the dress slip to show the right amount of curve. 

She'll knock this straight out of the park.

The hallways are dimly lit. Behind several closed doors she can hear soft, desperate moans, the roughened vocalizations shivering under the doors and permeating the walls with a sort of ersatz thrill that only leaves goosebumps on her skin. It feels _wrong,_ somehow, to hear the pleasure of others in spikes and peaks when her own prize sits primly behind door K. She wonders what she'll have Roxy do to her this time. Maybe she'll let the human -- for once -- hold her up against the wall, let her sink onto her human bulge; maybe she'll make Lalonde crawl on her hands and knees and clean out her toes. The break can last just a little longer --

"H-Hey." The voice is weak behind the door, and Porrim's blood freezes as she minisculey draws closer. "Hey. I -- I'm not...don't do that. Please don't do that."

"Do what?" another voice purrs out, and every nerve in Porrim screams _wrong, wrong, _there's someone _else_ with Roxy at this moment and Roxy's _hers._ No one gets to talk to her like that -- no one except her.

"I'm -- don't -- don't do this. Don't hurt them."

"Or what?" the other voice whispers, and there's the sound of metal scraping across wood. Porrim doesn't even try to handle the sudden rush of cold fury that swells in her abdomen -- the chainsaw appears in her hands like it belongs there, the blade still stained with a week ago's bloodstains. She edges closer to the door, her heart leaping in her throat.

"You're not in a position to make demands, Lalonde," the other voice says. "Really. Don't be stupid about this."

"I don't want to see it. I don't want to _fucking see it._"

The voice's laughter is as sharp and cruel as a dagger. "Too bad, then. Just hold still, kiddo, try not to move too much --"

Porrim lunges into the room, the chainsaw roaring into life.

Human or troll, she can't tell at the moment -- all that matters is Roxy shrieking and throwing herself into the corner, the intruder only getting one second of shock/awareness before the blade cuts his head clean off. It's almost cartoonish, really, the way _red? blue?_ blood splatters the wall in heavy coating smears, the body violently shaking before crumpling onto the ground like a cut doll, the impact wet and squishy and messy. The light's too dim to discern the color of his blood. Cradled in the corpse's arms is a box, dark grey and unadorned, but Porrim's attention drags to Roxy quivering besides the wall.

"You -- " her eyes are so wide, tears pooling down her cheeks, and all Porrim wants to do is envelope her in cloth and fabric and bundle her up like a grub -- "you just, you just _killed him_ oh my god you just -- "

"He was threatening you."

"He wasn't going to kill me! He just said he had something to give to me -- "

"And you didn't want it." Porrim casually stalks over to where Roxy attempts to stand, letting one hand cup across her soft, human flesh. Roxy's whimpers turn into a soft groan. "I got rid of him for you. _No one_ except for me talks to you like that."

"Like -- "

"Like they have any possession in your life," Porrim can't help but whisper, this sudden _feeling_ rooting her to where she stands, caging Roxy against the wall. She lets her chainsaw fall onto the ground, blood flecking over their legs in crystal droplets. "Like they mean _anything_ to you, the way you mean to me." She shouldn't be doing this. She shouldn't push Roxy to the edge, watch the girl tilt her head back to unconsciously bare her throat, watching her pulse flutter and rocket as she draws her head closer to her neck. "You know that, do you?"

"I'm yours," Roxy whispers, and her eyes are pained, even as Porrim -- as gently as she can -- sinks her teeth into the thin line of skin and vein, letting blood stream over her tongue. "I know I'm yours."

====

Once she's sure Roxy gets safe, Porrim returns back to the closet.

The box is still untouched. She'll have to call in Horuss and Rufioh to clean out the body, still lying in a heap on the floor, and on closer inspection he turns out to be a troll-human hybrid. Wonderful. What interests her more, however, is the box still clasped in his arms.

She pries it out and open slowly. The severed human head within stares back at her, lowblood eyes still wide in horror, the hair soaked in enough blood that its original color can barely be determind -- although Porrim wagers it was once pale fine blonde. 

She'll have to tell Roxy later, she supposes, closing the lid back over the box. The smell of blood has her lick her lips a little. She hates to be the bearer of bad news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So I am so, beyond sorry that this couldn't come in at a reasonable time, but there's just so much stuff happening and when I do return to ao3 I just can't force my mind to wrap around all these prompts and stuff...wow, I'm really sorry about the massive delay. Thank you for still reading.


	16. ultimatum (Eridan/Sollux)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by sn00wt:
> 
> "Ok the idea is that Sollux confesses romantic feelings for Eridan (It could be flushed or pitch, because while flush might be easier and more ‘romantic’ i think pitch might be interesting to play around with.) And Eridan rejects him, stating he’s just not interested in him like that. Sollux gets angry at this, acting possessive of Eridan ( shit like ‘you’re meant to be miine’ ya know. maybe not those exact words but yeah.), who tries to emphasize the fact he doesnt like/hate him that way. Sollux then i guess decides to force Eridan to be his. Enter Dubcon then, with Sollux ‘Claiming’ Eridan. Adding some light dirty-talk would be cool, also.
> 
> maybe like 1000 [words] ish?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E for Explicit Sexual Content, Underage, Dubious Consent, Consent Issues, Degrading Language.

Judging by how usually he flips his mood (and shit) like there's no tomorrow, you're surprised at his complete lack of reaction when you tell him you're _not_ fuckin' interested in sticking your bulge in his lowblooded ass anytime, thank you very much, he can just scurry the fuck out of your room now and not keep standing at the doorway, hands in pockets, just...watching you. Watching you stand and pace around angrily and yell a few more slurs his way, not a single discernible emotion crossing his face.

Which, frankly, is amazing. You've seen his legendary pitchfits with Kar, you've seen him sweet and dolled-up with the rustblood, and for the brief time he was with Fef you've seen him all bubbly and cheery, just like her. (It still pisses you the fuck off sometimes). Never, however, have you seen him completely apathetic like this -- now he's just idly staring up at the ceiling, a single claw fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

"Sol," you say, and then clear your throat a little. Honestly, you're starting to kind of get creeped out -- you can't _force_ him to leave, not when he possesses the ability to shoot sparks off your fins from fifty feet away, and it's moments like these when you realize that for all your nobility, superior aristocratic shtick you've got going, you're pretty glubbing helpless if he actually wants to open a can of whoop-ass on you. You still don't get why the hell it's the gutterbloods that get all the mind powers, not when they're clearly got swill pumping through their veins, but that's not a topic you'll bring up around a certain bipolar, lithpy fucknut.

"Sol," you repeat.

"You don't feel that way," he says calmly. 

"I don't feel _anything_ for you," you emphasize, and you'd lord it over him if his face wasn't starting to make you freak the fuck out. "No, I _don't_ feel flushed or pitch for you, and certainly not-the-fuck pale, so can you just -- oh, I don't know -- _get the hell_ out of my room?"

"That's weird," he continues, still with that terrible, calm voice, now folding his arms like he owns the place. "I mean, I'm just remembering last sweep when you were strutting around the place like a troll with three legs and you're just begging _anyone_ to fill a quadrant for you -- hell, you even asked _KK_ to be your palemate, you must've leaked all your pan fluid when FF shot you down like that. A quadrant whore," he adds when he sees your face slowly purpling with rage.

"I'm _not a quadrant whore -- _"

"So I'm surprised you're not flipping feet over fin at this chance." He spreads his arms and gestures at his chest, a universal _come at me bro_ radiating fat smugness from each bone and sinew of his frame. "I'm actually giving you a chance in the limelight. You should be licking up my feet for now." His grin is as unnerving as Kar smiling. "I could treat you like some glorified object and you'd beg for the attention, just so someone besides your left hand gets to feel up your nook or something. And I won't even bitch about it for once."

If you had your gun with you, you fuckin' _swear_ you'd blast him to mustardblood pieces -- but wait, you don't, you're left with hands and feet that have nothing against forces that could toss you against gravity. You have a little carving knife you used to use to cut lusi from Fef's nets, which makes it as powerful as a toothpick at the very moment.

"Sollux, _leave._"

He crams his hands into his pockets. On anyone else that gesture means they're defeated, they're resigned, they're honestly tired -- they're _backing off._ Not Sollux. He doesn't wait for any more witty barbs from your mouth or shoot any your way; he just turns around and leaves, walking like he's memorized the steps a thousand times, dismissing your presence entirely. _He_ was the one that came to you, told you he wanted to pin you down and fuck you and fill up a quadrant -- _not too picky on it, ehehe, but I figured you'd be interested_ \-- and now he's just walking away like confessing to you was just another tick off of the checklist. An item crossed off of some mental roster.

He doesn't even bother to close the door.

Long after he's gone, you decide to creep up to the door -- looking left and right down the hallways, thankfully _fucking_ empty -- and close the door shut. Your hands shake a little as you make sure to lock it tight.

====

Fate says otherwise for you, apparently.

There's a certain "witching hour" upon the meteor where everyone falls into bottomless slumber -- even Karkat, who couldn't sleep if you'd held a rifle to his head, sort of passively slumps in one spot and doesn't move unless there's a sound loud enough to wake him. It's this time that you decide to take a visit around the hallways, watching the shadows flicker and deepen along the walls as you move to the pool where only you and Feferi really use.

There's footsteps behind you.

"Sol," you say flatly, and you swear his glasses-less eyes glow a little as he draws closer to you. The pool is mere feet behind you. You know that he can't swim -- very few landdwellers can -- and you'll be _safe_ in the water -- and why are you suddenly so nervous, watching the way he taps a toe against the ground, his hands hooked through the waistline of his pants, his face almost...bored, really. Uninterested.

"ED."

"Mind tellin' me why the fuck you followed me out here?"

"I like watching you swim." The nonchalant way he says it sets off every alarm bell in your head, and the implication that this isn't his first time...and you're remembering all the times you let yourself sink to the bottom, bubbles clouding your vision, and you wonder if he was just _staring_ into the water, your silhouette disappearing under milky ripples. He's stepping closer, now, his shoes close to brushing yours, his face thrown in stripes of light and shadow. "You look peaceful."

_Okay. No._ You think you could throw him in the water, given the chance, but if you miscalculate...he'll fry you in three seconds flat, with his stupid ability to fly. You don't think psionics work too well in water, though. You stiffen your arms, wishing you brought your gun with you, not that it'd do much good at this proximity.

"Look at you," he mutters, one hand reaching up to brush your chin. Already your other hand's flashing out, ready to snap his wrist in two --

_WHAT_

and this terrible, _terrible_ pain rackets up your neck and face as his finger ghosts along your jaw, and suddenly you're trying to suck in air your lungs pushing hard against your ribs to try to breathe, to fucking breathe -- your thoughts are a chaotic mess and your glasses slip off and then you see the faintest of smiles gleam in Sollux's fangs, and he --

kicks you in the water, almost lazily.

Water. Water is your friend -- until this very moment, when you're sinking like a stone and you realize you _can't breathe; _your gill slits aren't working and you're clawing for the surface, panic and desperation making you rocket to the waves. You've never experienced drowning before. You _can't._ You're a seadweller, you've been in the ocean your entire life, _why can't you fucking breathe_ \--

"Did you know," Sollux says lazily as you struggle to stay afloat, black spots popping in your vision, "that if you electrostimulate your gills enough they'll temporaily close for several minutes to prevent further tissue deterioration? Me and FF did some crazy shit back in our day, you know. Heard of electrostimulation?"

No, _no,_ you don't give a shit -- you're sinking again and your _lungs just can't work,_ you can't breathe a modicum of air. Sollux is crouching by the side of the pool now, watching you struggle to survive. In the brief blurs of your periphery you swear he licks his lips a little.

"Damn, ED," he says, hands cupping his knees, "you look nice like this. Not talking about your blood color or your weapon cache for once. Just -- just trying to stay float, ehehe. How does that feel?"

You're -- _you're going to die._

The revelation pummels you with the force of a wrecking ball. You _can't,_ you can't die, you have so much things you wanted to finish and you're _not even an adult_ and you'll be dying in the very thing you should've never died of, and this horrible fear cascades into your entire body like you're about to be liquified. Your heart has never beat so painfully and intensely before.

"Wow," Sollux whispers, his eyes positively hungry whenever you manage to break the surface with your head. "_Wow._ You're -- " and here he lets out a gasp, so light and breathy it makes your own stomach clench even as your hand start going numb -- "you're -- you should be mine's. You're meant to be mine's. I want to -- I want to fucking _keep_ you, lock you up in a little bottle and carry it around with me -- "

and he _crawls_ to the very edge until his clothes are slightly dampened by the water. You surge up and sink, surge up and sink, this relentless rhythm making your chest stretch in excruciating pain and your breaths hissing in your skull with the agony of a thousand needles. 

"Going to fuck you up," he says, his voice low and rough. "I'm gonna -- I'll make you lick up my bulges first, your mouth's so pretty, just trying to breathe -- your eyes are so beautiful, did you know that? They're so wide and round like this. I want to see them." He almost reaches out for you, like he wants to pet your fins. "We could fuck in the water, if you want. You want that?"

_BREATHE I CAN'T FUCKIN BREA_

"Maybe," he continues, like he's reading his favorite book, "maybe I'll tie you to a pole sometime. Fuck you from behind like some dog, like some animal. They get shot in the ground after. I won't do that." He shifts onto one leg to alleviate his weight. "_Fuck,_ I could -- I could just go raw on you, make you scream and cry like a wiggler and no one'd ever notice because you sound like the same. No one'd believe you." There's a faint golden blush in his face. "You want that, ED? You want to answer me?"

_Oh gog._

"Just say the words, and I'll save you." Sollux watches you ceasing to live, watches your limbs beginning to still as you try to tread water. "Or maybe not. Why don't you -- "

" -- I'm -- "

He tilts his head at you, waiting. You use the last of your air to choke out something that _burns_ you with shame, practically cinders you with it --

" -- yours..."

and then you're sinking, and the water is so cool and dark around you and you let yourself sink, sink to the bottom, but this time you won't ever reach back up to the surface again. Your limbs are filled with frigid lead.

_Just let yourself go._

But something scoops you up from the bottom, like a half-assed net -- it's a plank of wood slowly pushing you to the surface. Air rushes into your body all at once, in these torturingly blissful waves that make you moan in relief. You're soaked head-to-toe, your clothes clammy on your skin, and you realize the plank's being buoyed by tendrils of red and blue light. You can hear yourself breathing and gasping noisily as you suck in air into your lungs, almost coughing out the same volume.

The sight that greets you chills you to your very bones. As you're set down on the sweet ground (for once you treasure it) you see Sollux slowly unzipping his pants, a single golden bulge twisting and dripping, curling upward, seeking friction. He's lazily running his palm alongside it, his nook flushed dark gold, and he stares at you with a desire that scares you more than any daymare has.

"You promised," he says like he's reading a thesaurus.

You can't. You _can't._ But you imagine his eyes flaring up once more, letting you sink and spiral and drown in waves darker than ink, and you're -- you're crawling over to him, your hands slick with water and spit and tears, and he opens his legs wider for you and you just _stare_ at him like he's something utterly foreign, and your brain hasn't catched up with the rest of your body and you're -- you're --

"Hey," Sollux says, his voice almost soothing, even as his fingers gently push your face toward his groin. "Hey. Don't stress about it. You'll like it."

You let your lips trail along the bulge, and you only feel hollow instead. It worms warm and wet into your tongue, tasting slightly of -- _acid, if you know its taste -- _and it probes the curve of your throat and you want to gag, especially when you still can't breathe properly, and his fingers stroke one of your horns and this strange, shivery feeling blossoms in your gut even as you take him down further. His hand's caught in your hair, parting your fringe lovingly, and he makes this soft sound of arousal as you flatten your tongue along the underside.

"You'll like it," he repeats, and his voice is full of adoration. Of bliss.

You close your eyes and you think of yourself drowning, the light dwindling into nothing.


	17. red (Sollux/Karkat)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by ManipulativeCanries:
> 
> "While making out Sollux accidentally bits Karkat's lip hard enough to make it bleed. He freaks out because Sollux can see his blood but Sollux ends up just getting turned on by it and the make out continues. Afterwards Karkat is still scared now that Sollux knows his blood and Sollux comforts him.
> 
> Length: 1000-2000 
> 
> ...Don't make it smut, not really looking for that. Just a make-out session and possibly a fluffy comfort hug afterwards. Also just to be clear this would be them in the red quadrant."
> 
> Again, no real rush, just happened to think of this randomly. You got me wanted to see Sollux/Karkat stuff now XD even though I don't ship them romantically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M for Suggestive Content, Swearing.

"How have I _not _flipped pitch on your pasty, skinny bone curve you call an ass yet?"

"It's my natural charm." Positioning each other on Sollux's shitty couch is a gogdamn chore, but finally Karkat's firmly situated in Sollux's lap, hands idly stroking the double horns to serve as a handhold. Sollux's glasses are tossed somewhere haphazardly on the rug. It's a weird position -- sometimes Karkat stiffens a bit too quickly, all his weight shifting suddenly onto one of Sollux's legs, or he scratches the horn too hard -- 

but when he finally settles down, everything goes fairly smoothly.

They've only pecked each other a few times before, the kind of awkward kisses that's got trolls on the street rolling their orbs in embarrassment. To make up for that travesty, Sollux decides to be a hero. He will be the first to act, breaking down barriers and borders like it's no one's business.

"Dude, what the fuck, you don't have to _bite so hard_ \-- "

"Jegus, KK," Sollux grits out before attaching his mouth back to Karkat's. Immediately annoyances fade into a distant pulse, not when the hot, slick mess of lips and tongue and teeth slide past each other, Karkat's tongue continually flicking to the spot where Sollux's own tongue splits, their breathings growing increasingly ragged. Hands are sliding down chests, skimming over bone and muscle, and Karkat's the first one to venture his mouth onto the other's neck.

"OWWW!"

"Shit, sorry, are you okay -- "

"If my fucking neck was your grubloaf, I'm perfectly peachy!" Sollux removes his hand from Karkat's waist to rub at his neck. "Can you apply that biting kink to your own mouth, or is that too much -- "

Karkat's eye-rolling could swipe in a gold medal. "Man, shut up," he mumbles, and then his mouth is over Sollux's again.

The atmosphere shifts; it's still their mouths pressing into each other, over and over, but now Karkat's hands ruck up his shirt, flattening along his ribs, brushing his grub scars, and Sollux in turn has his hands trace up to the smaller troll's shoulder blades, mapping out the contour of spine and ribcage -- a strange warmth settles in Sollux's gut, like a tea kettle beginning to boil, and he notices Karkat breathing heavier than usual.

"KK?"

"I'm -- I'm fine," Karkat sputters. Tentatively he rocks his hips forward a little, just a little, and Sollux _feels_ the heat shoot straight up his spine. He's aware that his own drool is beginning to drip down his chin, but the way Karkat's moving against his body -- his hands bolder as they surge up to his chest -- makes him shift his hands to Karkat's ass, squeezing slightly. Karkat's lips part, warm air puffed right into Sollux's mouth, and the sudden flare of nerves along his tongue has him biting down in turn, _hard._

"SHIT!"

Within seconds Karkat's crawling out of his lap, one hand cupped over his mouth, the other instinctively reaching for his sickle -- seeing the sudden violent reaction has Sollux scurrying away as far as he can to put some distance, a single red spark flitting around his horn. Both are breathing hard, Sollux's face flushed a heavy gold.

"KK, the fuck?"

"Shit," Karkat mumbles, his voice muffled, "shitshit_shit_ I fucked up, I fucked up so bad -- "

"Dude, what the fuck is going on? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Perfect." Karkat's hand twitches at his belt, hand still at his mouth. "Just -- I gotta go. I gotta go back to my hive."

"It's _daylight_ outside, you'll burn to a fucking crisp!"

"Fuck," he hears Karkat mutter. "I -- I need to go to the ablutions then, I need -- "

"You're bleeding," Sollux observes, noticing the drip of liquid beginning to stain Karkat's fingers. "You're -- wait," he trails off, seeing Karkat's eyes widen almost comedically. Karkat's eyes dart between Sollux, the door, and his own belt, sizing the distance.

It's almost humorous in how Karkat flips from fifty to a thousand as he observes the liquid trickling down his fingers. Sollux still can't process it -- maybe he's got something in his eye, or maybe he's overloading a little from psionic discharge -- but -- 

He rubs at his eyes, _hard._

"KK, your blood -- "

"Just -- " Karkat staggers away from him like he's drunk, the blood leaving a single pale trail down to his wrist. He's _whimpering,_ Sollux realizes, like he's been mortally wounded, and the sight of Karkat scared shitless makes his heart twist painfully. "Please don't -- " Karkat is trembling all over now, and there's _tears_ bubbling into his eyes. "Don't call the drones on me," he whispers. "Just make it quick, okay?"

Sollux is still staring at him.

"Your blood's _red,_" he finally manages out, because he can't elsewise formulate the immense shitstorm of emotions roiling inside his gut. Karkat's blood is _red._ Not rust-red or even unsightly fuchsia, but a true, deep crimson, and it gleams like a cut mineral as it stains his mouth. It's as red as his own eye. It's a color so rare and priceless and -- and _beautiful_ \-- and before he knows it, Sollux is reaching for the smaller troll, gently pushing him back into his grasp with his psionics. The crackle and static of his powers is a better background noise than Karkat's terrified noises, anyhow.

"What the fuck," Karkat manages out, even as Sollux reaches up and smears his thumb with the color. It looks so bizarre, a completely contrary palette of colors, but it practically pulses with a hidden, powerful vitality that perfectly encompasses Karkat. _He trusts you,_ Sollux realizes, staring up at Karkat's grey irises. _He trusted you enough to take the risk._

"You're not killing me," Karkat finally says, confusion clear in his voice.

Sollux debates on two routes he can choose: one, to dopeslap KK on the back of his head, or two: continue where they dropped off. The sight of the blood -- now staining Karkat's chin -- makes a tiny, wonderful shudder flutter in his stomach. It intensifies into full-on tremor of his body when he laces his hands through Karkat's hair and pulls his mouth back onto his.

Karkat's sound of surprise sounds like a pig being pulled by its tail, but then he's kissing back, almost twice as passionately, and their tongues and teeth meet in a wet haze of warmth. This time Sollux can _taste_ Karkat's blood, and it's the same metallic edge he's felt on his own tongue before -- yet somehow, possessed of the knowledge that it's a color utterly anathema to the hemospectrum, something so forbidden yet and wonderfully alluring -- makes him continue to push his tongue into the other troll's, trying to consume the flavor. Karkat's crouched over him now, pinning down his wrists, and it's a perfect opportunity for Karkat to bite off his tongue and escape if he wanted to.

Instead, Karkat breaks his mouth off, and his lips are in even more bloodied state than usual. _Gog,_ he's almost shining in the glow of light emanating from outside, and Sollux stares up dizzily at the blood, the taste still strong on his tongue. He _wants_ more of it -- not to drink, like some weird rainbow drinker, but to taste at it and be beyond ecstatic that out of _all the trolls_ that ever walked and breathed on Alternia, somehow Karkat chose _him_ to share the secret.

"I think -- " Karkat's ragged breathing has return, but this time it isn't from fear. His eyes have darkened in color. "I think -- stopping point, maybe? Or else I'll -- "

"Yeah," Sollux agrees quickly, propping himself onto his elbows, even as his bulge and nook scream in protest. "Yeah. No problem. No pressure."

They sit side-by-side on the couch for a while. The sun continues to rise, the heat growing slowly like a stove turned on, and Sollux snags a wipe off the table and hands it to Karkat, who takes it quickly. "I'm not going to ask why you have so many wipes in your living room," he snarks as he cleans off his mouth and chin.

"I code here a lot."

"Thank gog, I thought you would've used it for something else." Karkat rolls his eyes, and somehow manages to toss the bloodied wipe into the incinerator seven feet away. The silence returns again, albeit this time it's much more strained.

"My...blood," Karkat says, his hands twisting aggressively in his lap. Out of an unspoken instinct Sollux takes one of the hands in his own, and realizes Karkat's skin is only a little cooler than his own body temperature. "I...yeah. Ever since Crabdad died, it's been -- " His laugh is hollow. "It's been a fucking mess, let me tell you. I don't know how many times I had to escape from the skin of my teeth, or -- "

"You don't have to," Sollux interrupts. Karkat turns to stare at him blankly.

"Look, Captor, I know we've known each other since grubhood, but -- you don't have to pretend around if you don't want to. Like, don't get me wrong, I'm glad you didn't fillet me the moment you saw this, but you don't -- "

"Kar_kat,_" Sollux says, unable to keep irritation and affection from his voice. "Karkat. Why are you worrying about blood from the literal one person that could not give half a shit? I mean, I do," he rushes in, as Karkat's face shifts to confusion, "I _do._ As in how it affects you. But your blood's not going to change how I -- " he gestures between them, because words have never been his forté. "This. All this...stuff we have. Together."

"You're a fucking brain-dead idiot, then," Karkat spits out. "You're shackling yourself to some -- some _mutant,_ who won't even make it to Ascension, and if I do -- "

"Then I'll kill anyone," Sollux says simply, "that tries to hurt you." He can't help but trace Karkat's knuckles with one finger, feeling the muscles and skin shift under his touch. It's so natural to touch him, to breathe him in, and for a moment he can't think of a life without Karkat's presence. 

"What."

"Okay," Sollux amends, "like, I'll _try _to. I doubt I can go head-to-head with the Empress at this age if she wants you to be her new trident holster, but you're welcome to gamble."

"You can't even beat me in an arm-wrestling match, you douchepod."

"Yeah, I'm not down for physical grappling with a seadweller." 

This could go on all day, but suddenly Karkat's -- wrapping his arms around Sollux's torso, burying his head into the yellowblood's chest, one of his nubby horns digging into his collar bloodlessly. It's times like these that he can most acutely feel his heartbeat against Karkat's own pulse, and their rhythms don't sync at all and there's nothing similar about them -- and yet there _is,_ because there will always be the undercurrent of death in their lives, the fear of being cut on the streets and the dread of being helmed, and yet, when Karkat glances up at him and presses a soft, almost reverent kiss on the corner of his mouth, it's worth it. It's all _worth_ it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooookay, this was almost four months late i am SO sorry for the delay :'(


End file.
